


With Vega At Your Left

by threesmallcrows



Category: Free!
Genre: Depression, F/M, M/M, Pining, Soul Bond, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threesmallcrows/pseuds/threesmallcrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the turn of the year, the Iwatobi crew receive the tattoos that will reveal their soul-mates. </p><p>At the turn of the year, Makoto's life goes to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not enamored of the concept of soul-bonds or soul-mates... wrote this fic as an exploration of the trope and the consequences and complications, good and bad.

On January 1, 12:01 am, Makoto’s life goes to pieces.

 

All around them, the other celebrators cheer and clap as the temple bells begin to ring, counting up in their sonorous voices to the traditional one hundred and eight. But the eighteen-year-olds, they’re silent; every one of them gazing at their bared wrists, soft and pale and exposed in the biting cold, like so many twists of sea foam.

 

Staring at the ink beginning to bleed across his skin, heart on hyper-drive and white static hissing before his eyes, Makoto imagines the bells all across the nation simultaneously crying out to one another. Reaching desperately across the darkness and silence, like mournful birds.

 

He’s been so on-edge this whole week that he hasn’t slept more than five hours in two days. Everything around him looks dim and far away. He hopes he’s not blacking out.

 

In a moment, it’s done. His mouth goes cotton-dry and his head pounds in time with the next strike of the bell, whole body vibrating in shock. He forces himself to check again, carefully. But of course he’s known the characters of Haru’s name since practically before he could write his own; he’d have realized, already, if they were his. Just once, he mouthes the _kanji_ to himself. It’s a gender-neutral name; no one he knows.

 

Perhaps the disappointment is too intense; Makoto actually does feel himself black out a little, his knees dipping suddenly.

 

_It’s over._

 

In a second, he straightens himself, sucking in a breath. _I’m all right. I’m okay._

His eyes go straight to Haru. But Haru, he hasn’t noticed Makoto at all.

 

No, he’s staring at Rin, and Rin is staring back.

 

Makoto feels his heart stop again.

 

()

 

He has no idea how he makes it home that night. He does remember having to keep his hands in his pockets the entire way back to hide how they were shaking. Standing at his doorstep—alone, Rin and Haru had long ago vanished off somewhere—his keys escape him, breaking their backs against the ground. It takes him three tries to fit them into the doorknob.

 

He slips his shoes off as quietly as he can. The house is mostly dark, which means the twins must have already dozed off.

 

“Welcome home.” His mother’s voice floats down the hall, soft and warm as the scent of baking bread. Already Makoto feels his eyes brimming.

 

“Hey, Mom,” he calls out as casually as he can, hoping to escape quickly up the stairs into the sanctuary of his bedroom.

 

Right away she peers around the corner.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

The tenderness of her voice breaks him like a piece of glass. Tears streak down his face.

 

“Oh, Mako-chan. What happened?”

 

He has to lean down to bury his face into her shoulder.

 

She guides him to the sofa. The sobs wring the air out of him, tighten around his temples like screws, boring inwards.

 

“Was it the matching?”

 

Mutely, he nods into her sweater.

 

She doesn’t try and look at the name marring his wrist.

 

“I j-j-just th-thought it would b-be someone I knew,” he chokes, careful even now to avoid any mention of Haru’s name. “E-everyone else…”

 

“Oh, honey. It’s okay. It’ll be all right.”

 

He keeps telling himself to stop, to pull himself together, but it’s like something’s cracked inside of him. He clings to her like a child until he cries himself out.

 

()

 

Makoto wakes up on the couch, tucked snugly underneath a blanket.  


 _Ah, that’s right._ He’d made a scene of himself last night.

 

His head aches as badly as if he’s hungover. In the bathroom mirror, his eyes look horribly puffy. He presses a cold wet towel to them, and takes some of the twins’ bright-red liquid fever medicine, half for the headache and half for the comforting, too-sweet artificial taste he associates with being pampered during childhood bouts of sickness.

 

Already he’s determined to put himself on lockdown. No matter what he does or thinks, feels or wishes, there’s no way he can go back to last night and undo what happened; the neat navy characters branded on his left wrist remind him of as much. The sooner he accepts it and moves on, the better for everyone.

 

Still, as he wobbles out into the harsh morning air to fetch Haru, he thanks god Rin doesn’t go to their school. He doesn’t know if he could hold up in front of him.

 

As expected, Haru doesn’t seem the slightest bit affected. He doesn’t once mention what happened between him and Rin, how between two peals of the bells Rin had made a strangled noise and pressed Haru to him, forehead-to-forehead, murmuring something only Haru could hear; doesn’t mention what they did when they slipped off, leaving Makoto and Gou and Rei and Nagisa to take the subway home without them. And because Makoto is too shaky to trust himself to say anything, the walk to Iwatobi is mostly silent.

 

“Nagisa and Gou…” Haru mutters as they turn the corner to the main road.

 

That’s right. If Makoto hadn’t been a bit—preoccupied, he’s sure he would have been shocked. The two of them are close, in that bickering sort of way, but surely none of them had expected it. They, too, had disappeared off somewhere together that morning.

 

He nods, wondering vaguely what they’ll do about it.

 

At school, their classroom suddenly has a few more couples. It makes sense—there’s no point in waiting. _Not as if there’s any uncertainty._

Makoto bites his lip. Rin and Haru. Nagisa and Gou.

 

He’d give anything to go back to yesterday.

 

()

 

Really, only Rei’s in the same boat as him.

 

He doesn’t _seem_ to be taking it badly. “I’m going to post on Eighteen,” he says to Makoto quietly. “What about you?”

 

Makoto shakes his head. Eighteen’s the most popular match-finding service in Japan, a small application that runs in conjunction with most social-media websites. Newly matched people simply enter their match’s name into the app, and it sends them a notification and contact information if it finds a corresponding match in its database. “It feels kind of strange.”

 

“Don’t you want to find them?” Rei taps his wrist, grinning, and Makoto realizes he’s excited—practically humming in his seat. “Your other.”

 

Nausea. Makoto swallows hard.

 

“I’m not really in a hurry.”

 

It takes less than five days for Rei to hear back.

 

It takes less than five days for Makoto to fall apart.

 

He keeps reminding himself that everyone will stop talking about it, eventually. That after a week or two it’ll be less of a novelty, and he’ll finally be able to stop hearing ecstatic stories about old crushes validated or new loves found in the next town over, or down the street. Scores of well-meaning girls and a few boys have peered at the name on his wrist, but so far nobody’s identified it as one they know. Thank god for that—he’d feel terrible for them. He knows he’s in no shape right now to be a match for anyone.

 

Since the New Year, he has cried every night. For fifteen minutes, twenty, masked by the spray of their shower. He thinks he could probably keep going for hours, if it weren’t for the fact that he eventually has to get out, has to help set the dinner table and tutor the twins and smilingly listen to his parents’ stories about work. They should help, his family. A distraction, at least. Instead, it’s exhausting. He can’t stop thinking about his mom and dad—bonded the instant they found one another as freshmen in college. Every day, he seesthem fall more in love.

 

This is what the bond should do. Match you to the missing half of your soul.

 

 _No,_ he corrects himself, sluggishly. _This is what the bond does. For example, Haru and Rin—_

 

Idly, he scratches at the tattoo.

 

Ran leans over and grabs his arm. Peering at the name, sounding out the syllables.

 

“Ha… Haka…”

 

“Hanewa,” corrects Mom. “Hanewa Yuki. It’s a lovely name.”

 

She doesn’t quite glance at him, but he’s noticed—how she’s been extra cheery lately, cooking foods he likes, hovering at his door when she comes by to say good night. Ever since that night he made a fool of himself, she’s treated him like fine porcelain. He should’ve held himself together better.

 

So he smiles as cheerily as he can at his little sister and says, “Good try, though.”

 

“It’s a girl, right?” asks Ren, legs swinging. “But I thought…”

 

“It’s what’s called ‘gender neutral,’” says Makoto too fast. “That means we don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl’s name.”

 

“Kinda like how _onii-san_ has a girl’s name,” laughs Ran.

 

“Something like that.”

 

Dinner that night is pork cutlet, one of Makoto’s favorites. He tries, he really does, but he can’t finish half as much of it as he normally does. The food is oddly tasteless, sandlike in his mouth. He’s sure Mom notices. He feels terrible about it.


	2. Chapter 2

Rei is visibly nervous when he sets off to meet his match after school.

 

“You smell nicer than normal,” teases Nagisa—holding Gou’s hand, which is something Makoto has yet to get used to.

 

“Be nice, Nagisa, or else Rei-kun might throw up on you,” he says, more for Rei’s benefit than anything. “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to come with you?”

 

“Of course not,” chirps Nagisa. “After all, what if things end up moving along quickly—it’d be awkward to have another person—”

 

“Nagisa-san!” barks Rei, and they all laugh.

 

“Just relax,” advises Gou. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I mean, you guys are matched already, so…”

 

“That’s true,” breathes Rei. Makoto can see confidence settling in him, straightening him up and smoothing out his breathing. The sheer, unchangeable fact of it anchoring his frantic heart: _you guys are matched already, so…_

He must have slipped a little, because Gou glances over at him and squeezes his arm briefly.

 

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll find your other soon.”

 

If only that were the problem.

 

As he watches Rei board the bus to Shinagawa, waving at them as it pulls away, something begins to tighten in Makoto’s chest. A panicky, fluttery sensation, something like what he feels when he’s really hungry, but worse. His heart beats too fast. He glances skywards nervously. For a moment, there, he’d felt like he was about to fall into the air.

 

()

 

And the worst thing is, Haru is over the moon.

 

To anyone else he probably looks the same, plodding to school and back with that neutral expression on his face, but Makoto knows Haru maybe better than he knows himself, and he can tell.

 

It’s when his phone won’t stop ringing in the middle of class, and afterwards Haru slouches in the hallway and says in an irritated voice, “Quit calling me, I’m in school,” toying with the end of his tie. When he texts under his desk while their teacher’s back is turned, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s the brightening of his face when he catches sight of the black Samezuka uniform leaning like a smear of paint against the gate of their school; how quickly he vanishes afterwards. How his conversations with Makoto are even more absentminded than normal.

 

If Makoto was a good friend he would be overjoyed for Haru. Yet no matter how much effort Makoto puts into crafting his smile, it won’t seem to hang right. Although he’s not sure who he’s putting this show on for—it’s not like Haru’s eyes are on him. If they ever were.

 

He struggles along. February is a trial. He keeps getting ill for some reason; spends half his days fighting off low fevers, bouts of shivering gnawing at him like rats. He chalks it up to the stress of upcoming finals. He needs to do well, or he won’t be able to go to university—and if there was ever any doubt over whether or not he’d go, there’s certainly none now. Sticking around Iwatobi is no longer an option.

 

His grades weren’t amazing before, but at least his good subjects had balanced his bad. Now, even his scores in Japanese and mathematics are slipping. It’s a fast enough shift that Ama-chan-sensei calls him in one day after school to talk about it.

 

“Are you feeling okay, Makoto-kun?”

 

“I’m all right. I, uh, know that my tests haven’t been that good lately. I’ve just been sick a lot.”

 

“That’s no good. As Lao Tzu once said, ‘Health is the greatest possession’! You’ve got to be careful with yourself, especially since the swimming season is coming up.”

 

“I might not join the club next year.”

 

He reacts to his own statement at the same time as Ama-chan-sensei. _Wait, why did I say that?_

“But you’re the club president.”

 

He bows his head, casting around for an excuse.

 

“Well, next year is senior year. I’ll probably be busy studying for entrance exams and things, so…”

 

“So you’re set on going to college? That’s a good idea. Did you have someplace in mind?”

 

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Probably—somewhere far away.”

 

()

 

Come March, he’s lost enough in his physics class that he approaches Rei to ask him for help.

 

“Of course, Makoto-san. It’s no problem,” says Rei. Makoto smiles a little—at least Rei’s as simple-heartedly sincere as always.

 

“To be honest, I’m really behind in English, too,” sighs Makoto.

 

“You could ask Rin-san for help.”

 

“Rin?”

 

“Why not? He’s over a lot lately, with Haruka-san.”

 

On instinct, Makoto’s teeth tear into his lip. “Well, you know. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”

 

Rei dashes a glance at him. “Have you thought about using Eighteen?” he asks carefully. “I know you said you weren’t in a hurry, but…”

 

Makoto shrugs. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of nice to wait. I don’t really feel, um, like getting in a relationship now, you know? Especially since we’ll be so busy next year.”

 

“Over 60 percent of people find their matches in college or later.”

 

“You would know, wouldn’t you.”

 

Everyone knows Rei’s planning to study fate mapping—essentially the science of matching—when he gets to college. He’s been talking about it since their freshman year. “Fate mapping is the single most widespread and least understood biological phenomenon in the world. There’s so much room for study.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, fingers smearing the lens in his excitement, before launching into a half-lecture, half-tirade about some of the latest literature on the subject.

 

On New Year’s Eve, Makoto had been ninety percent sure Rei was, after possibly himself, by far the most nervous for the matching. Of course he’d have wanted to find his match as soon as possible.

 

The day after Rei went on his date, Nagisa had practically pounced on him at lunch, demanding to know how it went. Right away Rei had gone all flustery and red, and everyone had laughed as Nagisa carried out his interrogation mercilessly.

 

“Boy or girl?”

 

“Boy…”

 

“And is he older than you or younger?”

 

Rei covers his face, and Nagisa crows in laughter.

 

“Come on, Rei-chan, spill it. You can’t keep it hidden forever.”

 

“He’s twenty-three.”

 

Makoto sees Gou’s eyebrow tick upwards. Five years does seem like a bit of a gap.

 

“That’s not so bad!” says Nagisa. “And here I thought it was gonna be something _really_ scandalous, like a forty-year-old or something…”

 

“The map doesn’t do that,” grumbles Rei.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, the map is perfect and almighty and wonderful. But let’s talk about you and… what’s this guy’s name anyway?”

 

“As if I’m going to tell you! You’ll probably stalk him online or something.”

 

“You leave me no choice. Gou, Makoto, hold him down—”

 

“Nagisa! Get off me—”

 

When the school bell rings, Nagisa prods Rei one final time in the side and asks, “So do you guys like one another?”

 

“What kind of question is that?”

 

“It’s a perfectly legitimate question, so stop dodging it.”

 

Rei glances away, cheeks flushing up a storm.

 

“He’s p-perfect,” he mutters.

 

And of course he, whoever he is, would be. After all, Rei believes unblinkingly and unquestioningly in the map, has just as much faith in it as he does in Newton’s third law or gravity or matrix multiplication. A perfectly formed process, a closed and frictionless system. If Rei were in his position, Makoto thinks, Haru would already be in second place. Logically it must be so.

 

Second only to Rin, it is Rei that Makoto envies the most.


	3. Chapter 3

He never does end up asking Rin for help in English. Finals week smears by in a haze of coffee-fueled exhaustion and procrastination. Makoto’s never been very good at studying, but this year, in particular, he can’t focus. His bedroom is too clouded with memories of sleepless nights, the asphyxiation of thinking himself in circles, but when he goes to a library or to a café he can’t stop noticing all the happy couples drifting by, their laughter like mockery. He doesn’t feel like studying. He doesn’t feel like going out with his friends. When he can he goes straight home after school, slouches against the headboard of his bed, and grinds his mind against his impossible dilemma until his thoughts fray. He wonders if he’s depressed. But depression, that’s a legitimate medical condition. People take treatments for that. _I’m just feeling sorry for myself._ But he can’t figure out how to goad himself out of the ditch he’s lying in.

 

What he really wants is to _tell_ someone. Get the poison of all these unsaid words out of his veins. But who could he possibly talk to? Nagisa is too sympathetic and assertive of a person; Makoto does not quite trust him not to try and do something about it if he shows him how he feels. Gou is Rin’s little sister and thus out of the question. Rei might be the best option, but he’s scared that Rei, with his utterly bright-eyed view of the map, will judge him. Reject him for his smallness of heart and his stupidity.

 

In the end, he gets a C in English, and doesn’t do much better in physics. His highest grade is a B+ from Ama-chan-sensei, and he suspects there’s more than a little pity involved there.

 

His parents, who are usually pretty off-hand about these sorts of things, are not off-hand this time. They lecture him about how he can’t afford to fool around if he wants to go to college. Instead of apologizing like he should, he snaps at them, argues mindlessly. Vaguely he’s aware that he’s taking his own stress out on them, that it’s not fair and that he should stop, but he can’t quite manage to actually do it. His parents are alarmed. After he’s slammed his bedroom door for the first time he can remember, he hears their concerned, muffled voices discussing him downstairs. “Makoto’s not like this.”

 

 _Well, deal with it,_ he thinks, angry. _I am like_ this, _now._

He manages to hold his grudge until nighttime, when his mother knocks quietly on his door and asks if she can come in. He caves, and in minutes is apologizing to her, remorse clawing at the inside of his chest. “That’s okay,” she says, sitting at the edge of his bed as he looks at his hands, avoiding her eyes. “Just try to do better next semester. And enjoy yourself over spring break, okay? Have fun and don’t worry about anything.”

 

He goes out less because he wants to than because he knows his parents will fret if he sits around the house all day. There’s the usual round of video games and television marathons, as well as their tradition of sneaking into their old middle school’s pool in the dead of night. They meet up late on Wednesday night and climb the steep, winding stairs to the school—in a small town like theirs, the buses stop running at ten. After they’ve all wiggled under the loose flap of chain link fence behind the baseball diamond, Rin sneaks a hand into the back pocket of Haru’s jeans and Makoto pretends he doesn’t notice.

 

As it turns out, the night isn’t totally unbearable—Nagisa has somehow procured them several bottles of cheap wine and a pack of decent beer. Rei volunteers to be sober watch and the rest of them splash around in the shallow end, making drinking games out of races and breath-holding contests and diving competitions. Rin wins most of these, yet he still gets louder and happier and touchier as the night deepens, handle-pulling from the wine bottle and flirting openly with Haru. Haru, too, must be drunk, because he lets Rin do it.

 

Quietly, Makoto takes more than anyone else and swims to the center of the pool. He goes under, holding his breath and counting seconds. The water stings his eyes when he opens them. Ten. Fifteen. Everything is artificial turquoise, striated in bands of white swaying calmly as seaweed. Sounds muted. Far away, a tangle of pale knees in the corner. That must be Haru and Rin.

 

Twenty. Thirty. He likes it. He wishes he could stay down here.

 

Thirty five. Forty. He closes his eyes.

 

Someone is pulling at him. He surfaces in a splash, lungs heaving.

 

“Come on, Mako-tan, stop playing dead and come over here with us.”

 

Obediently, he swims over to the side in a messy crawl. He reaches for the wine bottle, but Nagisa slides his hand over the lip.

 

“Save some for the rest of us. You’ve been at it all night.”

 

“I’m not drunk,” he protests. Everyone’s eyes are on him. Rin is laughing, and a few seconds later Rei has him by the armpits and is hauling him bodily out of the water.

 

“Yeah, you’d better take a break for a few minutes, Makoto-san,” he says, peering into his eyes. “You’re sloshing even on land.”

 

“You’ve been put on time-out. It’s the lightweight corner of shame!” laughs Nagisa.

 

“As if you should be talking,” Rin accuses. “You’re the puniest one out of all of us.”

 

“Please. I’m so sober it hurts. If we had anything harder I’d go shot-for-shot with you, Rin-rin. I’m not afraid.”

 

“He’s right,” murmurs Haru, looking sleepy, arms propped on the rim of the pool. The pool lights fleck his inky eyes with stardust and trace the water-slick angles of his body. A sick thrill knifes Makoto somewhere below the navel. “Don’t let Nagisa get you in a competition. You’re already drunk enough.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Your face is all red.”

 

“Maybe that’s your fault.”

 

Lying on his back on the smooth tile floor, Makoto’s eyes slide shut. The air feels pleasantly warm and the smell of chlorine is its own lullaby. _I’m happy for them,_ he thinks, and falls abruptly asleep.

 

Waking comes slow. The room is dark, echoing faintly with the gentle slap of water. The floodlights set around the rim of the pool set everything on shimmering blue fire, as if they’re all trapped inside the volcanic belly of a whale, moving ponderously through a sea of night and starry bioluminescent creatures.

 

A harsh whisper cuts over the surface of the silence, swift as an albatross.

 

“Haru—”

 

“Shhh.”

 

Blearily, Makoto cracks his eyes open.

 

On the other side of the deck, Rin is a dark shape bent over Haru on all fours, face pressed into his neck. Rin moans, faintly. “ _Fuck,_ Haru, oh my God—”

 

“Shut _up_ —”

 

Haru’s voice slips on the last syllable as Rin does something to his throat, his breath leaving him as if he’s been hit.

 

“Ah— _Rin—_ ”

 

“Shit. Shit. Hold on, let me—” Rin gropes sideways for something.

 

“It’s in my wallet.” The edge of a gasp dogs Haru’s words like a shadow.

 

“Where…?”

 

“Pants. Pocket.”

 

“…Okay, I got it.”

 

The crinkle of plastic. Suddenly, Makoto realizes what it is they’re talking about. All the drink-induced haze lifts in an instant. He’s queasy with anger and bitterness and something almost like panic, even as the breathy sound of Haru’s voice cleaves him in half with a flame-dark longing he hasn’t felt in a long time. He feels sick and dizzy, maybe with alcohol and definitely with want and jealousy.

 

Right now, he could tear Rin in half.

 

As loudly as he can, he shifts and yawns.

 

Instantly, the two of them freeze.

 

After a second, Rin worms his hand back between the two of them.

 

“No,” says Haru. “Wait—”

 

“Fuck that. He’s been asleep for like an hour.” Rin is like Makoto’s never heard him before, nearly whining, his voice low and hoarse. “You know how he is. He’ll sleep through anything.”

 

But Haru’s already sitting up, pushing Rin back until he’s half in his lap. “It’s late. Where’re the other two?”

 

“Fuck knows. Come _on,_ you’re fucking killing me—”

 

“Later.”

 

“Your house?”

 

“My parents aren’t home. It’ll be better when we’re more sober anyways.”

 

“ _Fuck._ Fine. Fuck you, Nanase.”

 

 “You’re kind of desperate.” Makoto can hear the smirk in Haru’s voice. “I like it.”

 

Rin flops back to lie flat on the tile. “You’re a total bastard and I hate you.”

 

“I’m gonna wake him up. We need to get out while it’s still dark.”

 

“Mmmm, okay.”

 

“Rin? Don’t fall asleep.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Hurriedly, Makoto closes his eyes. He hears Haru crouch besides him. His cool hand prods Makoto in the stomach.

 

“Hey. Wake up.”

 

Still feeling sick, Makoto makes a show of blinking awake.

 

“Haru…? What time… is it?”

 

“Late. We’re leaving.” Haru eyes him as he stumbles to his feet. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” he lies. “That stuff wasn’t very strong. Where’s everyone else?”

 

Haru nods his chin at Rin, passed out on the deck. “I dunno where Nagisa and Rei went.”

 

“You think they left?”

 

“Their stuff is still here.”

 

Makoto glances at Rin. “I’ll go find them. You’d better wake him up.”

 

“Scared?”

 

“Of course I am. Rin’s a monster when he gets up.”

 

“I meant of the dark.”

 

“Very funny. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“Be careful.”

 

Makoto smiles. “You get so mother-y when you’re drunk.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“All right, Haru, I’m going.”

 

He moves off into the shower rooms, holding on to the wall with one hand.

 

Rin is going to follow Haru to his house. They’re going to hook up and Rin will stay the night.

 

He used to sleep over at Haru’s all the time, especially during break. Staying up till three marathoning zombie first-person shooters, or eating microwave-popcorn out of a bowl, or doing nothing at all.

 

The floor seems to buck beneath him, and he nearly trips. _Watch where you’re going. And quit thinking about that._

 

“Rei?” he calls out. “Nagisa? We’re leaving.”

 

They’re not there, or in any of the locker rooms. Peering blearily into various ill-lit corners, Makoto curses under his breath. He’s going to be so hungover tomorrow.

 

“Guys?”

 

Confused, he ends up padding barefoot into the grounds of the school proper. There’s a puddle of water gleaming at the foot of the stairs.

 

The steps sway slightly as he climbs them, rolling beneath his feet like the scales of a dreaming serpent. When he arrives at the door to the roof, it is so dark that the faded characters reading “do not enter” are barely visible. Back in junior high, he’d always been terribly afraid they would get caught whenever one or the other of his friends (usually Nagisa or Rin) would propose sneaking lunch onto the roof. They had, once. But the punishment hadn’t been anything at all, just a tongue-lashing from the vice principal (duly ignored) and a promise never to do it again. It’s still hard for him to distinguish between the mountains and the molehills of his many fears.

 

_You’re just a little man, Makoto Tachibana. Your eyes are on the ground while your friends are looking at the stars._

 

Shaking his head, he pushes the door open. A gust of cool air rolls past him. The surface of the roof is gravel; Makoto winces and retracts his foot as he attempts to step forward. _Should’ve brought my shoes._ Cautiously toeing the edge of the concrete tile at the doorway, he holds on to the edge of the hatch and peers around its side.

 

At the far edge of the roof, Nagisa is walking on the ledge, hands outstretched, as Rei frets at him from below.

 

“Come down.”

 

“Look! I’m flying.”

 

“I’m serious. You could fall.”

 

“I’m not that drunk. It’s fine. You’re such a worrywart.”

 

“You had a lot to drink.”

 

“Was Rei-chan watching me?”

 

“Can you seriously get down from there? You’re making me nervous.”

 

“Are you worried?” he teases.

 

“Yes, I’m worried. Now could you please just come down?”

 

Nagisa sighs theatrically. “For your sake, Rei-chan, fine.”

 

But as he steps down, Nagisa’s foot really does catch on something, and he end up tripping forwards. Rei grabs frantically at Nagisa, Nagisa tries to hold on to Rei, and they both end up toppling to the ground in a shower of gravel.

 

“Are you guys okay?” calls Makoto, but it must come out fainter than he’d intended, because neither of them responds. Nagisa sits up first, pulling Rei up after him.

 

“O—uch…”

 

“My glasses…”

 

“Ah, shoot—I hope they didn’t—oh, no, they’re right here.”

 

“Did they break?”

 

“They’re a-okay.”

 

In one movement, Nagisa slides the glasses onto Rei’s nose, leans forward, and kisses him.


	4. Chapter 4

The long, tedious opening ceremonies for the semester are the perfect time for Makoto to think himself in circles.

 

On the one hand, he could chalk it up to them being drunk. On the other hand, Rei was entirely sober, and given Nagisa’s tolerance, he might’ve been fairly clear-headed too. Then again, he couldn’t be sure of that, and in any case it was Nagisa who’d initiated it.

 

But it was also true that Rei hadn’t exactly resisted.

 

His gaze slides over to the girl’s section of the auditorium. Gou is barely visible, a sleek maroon ponytail buried in the depths of the third row with two of her girlfriends.

 

The _right_ thing to do would be to tell Gou.

 

But it was one time. One five-second, fairly chaste, drunken kiss late at night during spring break that, in any case, hadn’t led anywhere—Rei had pulled back after a moment, Nagisa had grinned and apologized, and they’d left the roof soon after, Nagisa weaving around a little and clutching at Rei’s arm for support. From the way Nagisa acted the next day, Makoto couldn’t even tell whether he remembered it happening.

 

He supposes the question was whether, clear of the effects of the wine, Nagisa was attracted to Rei. But Nagisa was so damn friendly towards everyone that it was really impossible to tell. Certainly there wasn’t more evidence for Rei than for Gou, whom Nagisa keeps his arm around during lunch and peppers butterfly kisses on and teases mercilessly.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Haru’s standing over him, looking vaguely annoyed and just as overheated as the rest of them. “It’s over. Let’s go.”

 

At the far end of the row, Nagisa waves at Gou and calls something that makes her blush and her friends titter. He hears her yell, “ _Mou,_ Nagisa!”

 

He would tell Gou, but it just seems so much like nothing will come of that moment—that he doesn’t. And then there’s the news that Rei springs on them during lunch one day:

 

“You’re moving in with him?”

 

“He wants me to, just for the summer. And I also think it’d be, er, nice.”

 

“ _Nice,_ Rei-chan?” teases Nagisa. “You’re growing up so fast.”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“So I guess that’s the last we’ll be seeing of you until September.”

 

“It’s not like it’s that far away—his university’s just an hour away, so I’ll definitely come back and visit.”

 

“I didn’t mean it was far, I just thought you’d probably be. You know. _Busy_ most of the time _._ ”

 

“Have some mercy,” says Makoto, “or you’ll tease him straight out of going.”

 

“Mako-chan, nothing on the face of this planet could keep Rei-chan from going,” says Nagisa quite seriously as Rei turns the color of flame.

 

()

 

These days Rei only shows up to swim practice half the time. He never really mentions where he’s vanishing to, but everyone knows the bus to Shinagawa leaves half an hour after school lets out.

 

So it’s just three of them in the pool, enduring the still-cool waters. As usual, Haru’s reluctant to stop swimming, even as Makoto and Nagisa begin their cooldown. After they’re done, Nagisa comes to sit next to him. Knees propped on elbows, he watches Haru slide back and forth beneath the water like a shuttle in a loom.

 

“I’m kind of worried,” he says abruptly.

 

He sounds unusually grave. “…About what?”

 

“Rei-chan. What he said about summer.”

 

Almost instantly Makoto thinks of a moonlit roof, a pair of abandoned glasses.

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know. I mean, they haven’t known each other that long, and Rei-chan’s already moving in with him. Doesn’t it seem a little strange?”

 

“It’s not as if they’re strangers. They’re matched. They’ll get married someday. How is it strange?”

 

“And he’s so much older, too.”

 

“Five years isn’t so much—”

 

“Isn’t it, though?”

 

“…Well, it won’t matter as much when they get older. I didn’t know you were such a worrier.”

 

“Oh, I’m not, really. I guess I’m being silly about it. It’s just that everyone’s growing up so fast.”

 

“Well, what about you and Gou-chan?” It’s a leading question. “You two seem the same.”

 

Nagisa’s face crumples in on itself, and right away Makoto knows he’s said the wrong thing.

 

“Mako-chan, do you think Gou-chan likes me?”

 

Makoto stares.

 

“What? Of course I do.”

 

“Are you just saying that?”

 

“I’m not. I really think she does like you. She always seems to be having a good time when she’s with you.”

 

“Because she’s been…Oh, I don’t know how to say it. I just feel like nothing’s changed between us.”

 

“Since…”

 

“Since before the matching. I mean we were all friends before, and like I really liked her, but I guess I thought I just liked her as a friend. And now we’re matched and everything and I still really like her, but the before-like and the after-like are like, the same like! And, and… I don’t know, is that okay?”

 

Carefully, Makoto says, “Is this a physical thing? I mean—don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but—”

 

“No, it’s fine. We haven’t _done_ anything. Why, do you think we should have?”

 

“No! No, no one’s telling you you should have or you shouldn’t have.” Suddenly, he thinks he understands why Nagisa’s so on-edge about Rei—Rei’s obviously gone ahead with his match. Since Nagisa and Rei are such close friends, maybe he’s feeling like he should have done the same. “You shouldn’t ever feel pressured into doing anything physical. Even if you’ve found your match, everyone moves at their own pace. Unless, I mean… I don’t know if Gou-chan’s said anything to you about that…”

 

“She hasn’t, but I don’t know if she just doesn’t want to tell me because she knows _I_ don’t want to do that.”

 

“Do you? Want to, like, do anything?”

 

“I guess? I mean, we’ve kissed and stuff, but not seriously. I kind of don’t feel any way about it, either way.”

 

“It could be that you’re just not ready to do the physical things yet.”

 

“But that’s the thing. I’ve done those things before, and I _liked_ them, but—but, Mako-tan, it was always with a guy.”

 

Makoto blinks. He’d had absolutely no idea.

 

Nagisa is staring at his hands, utterly miserable and looking small and confused as a wet cat.

 

“And, like, I don’t know whether maybe that’s the problem… I’m so jealous of Rei-chan, because he, you know how he is—he totally believes in the map. And that’s great. But I just—thought it would be a lot less confusing than this. I feel so bad for Gou-chan, too, getting stuck with someone like me. I really do like her a lot. Just…” He flicks a glance at Makoto as Haru pulls himself easily out of the pool, shaking water everywhere. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

 

“Of course not.” As Haru pads past them towards the shower rooms, Makoto says quietly, “It’s really sudden for everyone, not just you. It’s normal to feel kind of weird about it, I think.”

 

“Probably,” says Nagisa, sounding unconvinced.

 

A couple days later, Makoto’s heading out after school when he catches sight of the Samezuka colors and a messy mop of red hair. Before he can duck out of view, Rin waves and makes a beeline for him. Makoto waits, feeling trapped.

 

“Hi, Rin.”

 

“Yo.”

 

He makes a faint gesture. “Haru’s in the pool…”

 

“I know. I’ll see him later. I wanted to talk to you.”

 

Makoto blinks. “Me?” he repeats dumbly. “Okay…”

 

“You’re pretty close with my sister, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Rin sighs, shifting tetchily from foot to foot. “It’s about Hazuki. God, it’s so annoying when other people make you be the go-between. Do you wanna grab something to eat? This might take a while.”

 

Sliding into the booth across from Rin, Makoto doesn’t think he’s felt more off-balance all month. Rin’s just so—different from him. And, well, if Rin is Haru’s other… He supposes that just means he never had a shot in hell.

 

_Stop that. It’s not like you can blame him._

Truth be told, for six months now Makoto’s been treating Rin with an odd mix of avoidance when possible and totally cheery politeness otherwise, as if he’s a distant relative to dutifully kiss on the cheek and tolerate for an evening. He doesn’t like it. Sure, he was never as close with Rin as Haru, but he really is one of his oldest friends. Just, with the way things are now, Makoto can’t quite treat him as if everything’s the same. And it’s so damn unfair, that the matching could take away two of his oldest friends in one cut.

 

Luckily, Rin is as imperceptive as always (and that just _digs_ at Makoto, because how could a guy so noisily absorbed in himself ever _get_ someone like Haru, someone quiet and self-contained who needs to be studied like an art?), plunking down his tray of fries loudly on the table.

 

“So,” he says abruptly. “Nagisa.”

 

“Yes…?”

 

He sighs, as if this is the wrong response. “Gou’s not happy.”

 

“With Nagisa?”

 

“With the match. She thinks he doesn’t—fuck, I dunno. He doesn’t like her, or some shit.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know! She’ll act all pissy and uptight at home and then when I ask her what’s wrong, she won’t fucking talk about it. But she keeps throwing out hints it’s something to do with Nagisa. She’s driving all of us up the wall.”

 

“I have an idea,” says Makoto carefully, “what she’s worried about.” Briefly, he gives Rin a heavily edited version of his conversation with Nagisa. “So basically I think she’s maybe ready to… go a little farther, or whatever, but Nagisa’s not really at that stage yet.”

 

Rin makes the obligatory grossed-out-older-brother face. “There’s something else too. I think she thinks he’s too close with Rei.”

 

This is so ridiculously obvious that Makoto just sort of sits there for a moment. Eventually, he says, “Of course he’s close with Rei, they’ve been friends for forever. But it’s not the kind of close she has to be suspicious of.”

 

“I know! I told her the same fucking thing, but she wouldn’t listen to me. I mean, if Nagisa wasn’t matched with her, I might think… But he is, so that’s that.”

 

“Might think—what, that he was…?”

 

Rin just stares at him. “Gay. I mean, come on Makoto, all of us were a little…”

 

“…I, uh, sure. But like you said, they’re matched, so.”

 

“I guess.” He squashes a fry vengefully into the side of the basket. “Do you ever think that, like, sometimes the matches get screwed up?”

 

Frowning, Makoto says, “Just give it some time. They’ll work it out eventually.”

 

“I’m not talking about Gou and Nagisa. Just in general.”

 

“I hope not,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. “That’d be horrible.”

 

Rin shrugs. “Every year after New Years, there’s always a jump in suicides.”

 

“It makes me kind of mad,” says Makoto quickly.

 

“Oh?”

 

“It’s so selfish, isn’t it? If you commit suicide, your other will never have anyone.”

 

Rin looks at him strangely. _Shit. Did that sound weird?_

“Only you would say something like that.”

 

“I… Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive—”

 

Rin waves his hand at him. “No, it’s fine. I get it. You’re just too considerate, sometimes.” Lying on the table, Rin’s phone suddenly buzzes; he just manages to catch it as it falls off the edge. He glances at the screen. “Haru’s coming over in five.”

 

“Oh, okay. I, um, I actually have to go. Literature homework. Unless there’s something else you wanted to talk about.”

 

“What? Come on, hang out with us for a while. You’re always so busy doing work now. You’re turning into a real nerd.”

 

Makoto shrugs, rising to his feet. “Sorry. Maybe some other time. Tell Haru hi.”

 

“Stay and tell him hi yourself,” protests Rin, but Makoto is already sliding out of the booth and waving an apologetic goodbye.

 

()

 

They don’t get anywhere in the prefectural tournament. Honestly, Makoto’s surprised that they even come as close to placing as they do. After all, Rei, still their most vulnerable link, has skipped more practices than he’s attended. And Nagisa…

 

Something’s going on with Nagisa. And whatever it is, Makoto doesn’t think it only has to do with Gou.

 

About a month ago, the school secretary had showed up at their fourth-period history class. Peeking around the corner, her thick glasses making her eyes look huge and owlish, she’d asked, “Is Hazuki Nagisa here?”

 

Nagisa looked up from the phone concealed in his palm beneath the desk—from his angle, Makoto could see that he’d been playing some fantasy RPG in lieu of taking notes. “Who…?”

 

A young woman, slender and tall and dressed in a cream-colored sheath dress, peered around the shoulder of the secretary. “Nagisa?”

 

Makoto had never met any of the Hazuki sisters—none of them lived in Iwatobi anymore, according to Nagisa—but the physical resemblance, the sloping button nose and upturned upper lip, was strong enough that he figured she must be one of them.

 

Nagisa made a little sound, and stood up. “What is…”

 

She shook her head, gestured at him to step outside.

 

Their footsteps faded quickly away, the soft scuffle of Nagisa’s trainers playing counterpoint to the staccato clicks of the woman’s heels. The teacher coughed loudly in a mostly-futile attempt to recapture the attention of the class, and resumed lecture with the air of an overworked engine tasked with hauling a long, heavy line of train cars. Rei turned from staring quizzically at the now-empty doorway and shot Makoto a confused look; Makoto frowned and shrugged.

 

After a few minutes, he caught a glimpse of movement outside. His seat afforded him a good view through the window; through it, he could see Nagisa and his sister moving like ants across the concrete, their shadows shriveled by the noon sun into near nonexistence. For a while it looked as if he was about to follow her out the school gates, but they ended up halting dead center in the big courtyard. They were too far away for Makoto to make out much, but it seemed she was talking to him quite intently—almost lecturing him. Half-listening to the teacher drone on about the Kansei Reforms, Makoto watched the light blaze off Nagisa’s gold hair like a mirror.

 

She turned, swayed a few steps away from Nagisa, then swiveled again abruptly and hugged him almost ferociously, hands clenched in the back of his uniform shirt. When she released him, it was with a little shove. Makoto watched the dot of her travel all the way down the courtyard, before vanishing around the bend of the gates. Even after she’d disappeared from view, Nagisa continued to stand there, a frozen island of shadow marooned in a sea of light.

 

Then he shook his head sharply, swiped a hand over his face, and turned back towards the school buildings.

 

When he slid back into his seat, he didn’t mention what they talked about. But he was absentminded all through practice afterschool, and excused himself early.

 

Gou had bitten her lip, hands worrying at the hem of her skirt. She didn’t go after him.

 

Three weeks later, Samezuka slaughters its way through the prefecturals, to no one’s surprise. Stony-faced, Haru swears up, down, and sideways that he isn’t going to travel with their “opponents” to regionals, so of course it falls to Makoto to talk him off his high horse, since Rin is equally idiotic and too proud to beg for what they both clearly want to happen.

 

“They’re our competitors. It’s not appropriate.”

 

Sometimes Makoto really, really just wants to take Haru by the shoulders and shake him. Hard. “I _know_ , but he’s your b—bondmate. This”—and he’s trying to gesture at Iwatobi and everyone in general, but it’s after school and an abandoned classroom and he sort of just ends up pointing at himself—“doesn’t matter.”

 

Haru glares at him. “It matters.”

 

“…but it really doesn’t, though.”

 

“It _does_ ,” he insists, eyes boring into Makoto. Makoto looks quickly away. “Anyway, if you don’t go, you know he’ll get cranky, and then he probably won’t swim well, and then he’ll be even more upset…”

 

“He doesn’t care if I come.”

 

Makoto’s mouth twists. “ _Please,_ Haru. That’s a load of crap, and you know it.”

 

“He hasn’t asked me.”

 

 _That’s because it’s_ Rin, _you giant idiot. Christ, do I have to do everything myself?_

 

Apparently he does; after Haru leaves, Makoto pulls out his phone to text Rin. He ends up staring at the last string of messages between them—sent way back in April, some confusion about where and when to meet up with the others before going out.

 

He misses him, too. He misses both of them.

 

He shakes his head, types out the message quickly. [Hey, you should ask Haru to go to the regionals with you guys. He wants to go but he thinks you don’t want him to for some reason]

 

Rin responds within seconds, which is rare for him. [wait why the fuck would he think that]

 

[I dont know ask him?]

 

Silence. Makoto sighs, tucks his phone back into his backpack.

 

That evening, Rin abruptly texts back, [harus an idiot]

 

[Okay, haha]

 

[what about you. r you coming]

 

Makoto stares at the phone, heart thrumming overfast with something—fear, maybe.

 

[I’ll pass. School stuff, sorry.]

 

He presses send and turns his phone off.

 

()

 

On the Sunday after school ends, all of them trail Rei to the station. Ever thorough, Rei just about packs the kitchen sink; it takes many pairs of hands to haul all his luggage there.

 

While they wait for the train to arrive, they chat about nothing in particular, in that way friends do. Gou’s as friendly towards Rei as she ever is, but Makoto catches the way her face falls blank while Nagisa bickers happily with Rei, the way her arms rise and cross over her chest as if of their own accord.

 

Gou had never struck him as the jealous type, but then again, Rei and Nagisa were really, really close by anyone’s standards. Not to mention she had to be aware that pretty much no one had expected her and Nagisa to get matched. Some competitive feelings probably couldn’t be helped.

 

He sidles over to her and waves a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Gou.”

 

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. I dunno, it’s this heat…”

 

“So what’re your plans for summer?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe a part-time job, although it’s a little late to apply.”

 

“Or you could just take it easy before senior year.”

 

She laughs, wry. “Trying not to think about that, thanks.”

 

“What’s Nagisa doing?”

 

“Oh, you know him. Probably just fooling around.”

 

“Well, it’s good he has you to keep an eye on him. At least he doesn’t have to move all the way to Shinagawa to see you.”

 

She glances at Rei. “Rei’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Shinagawa isn’t like, New York or something.”

 

“Yeah, but it still seems really far from here.”

 

“Everywhere seems far from Iwatobi.”

 

“That’s right—you’re leaving too, aren’t you?”

 

“I guess. Graduation’s not for a while, though.”

 

“Won’t you get homesick, going to university so far away?”

 

He shrugs. “Probably.”

 

She pulls at his sleeve. “Stay here with us.”

 

He looks away and laughs so he doesn’t have to explain himself.

 

Although they got to the station a quarter-hour early, Rei nearly misses the train, because when it pulls up there’s a flurry of last-minute hugs and well-wishes. Nagisa gives him one of his infamous death-trap hugs, nuzzling his head against the side of Rei’s neck so hard that Rei looks like he can’t breathe for a few seconds.

 

“It’s not like Shinagawa’s that far,” he scolds all of them, hair mussed, as Nagisa finally detaches himself.

 

“It’s not,” agrees Haru quietly.

 

“But it is,” protests Nagisa.

 

Gou smiles faintly. “We’ll come visit you, Rei. Or come visit us, or both.”

 

Makoto hands him the last of his luggage. “Text us when you’re settled in, okay?”

 

“All right, enough of that—it’s not like Rei-chan’s going off to war,” says Nagisa brightly, sniffling a little. “Now, Godspeed to the lovebirds!” He cries it out entirely too loudly, and everyone laughs, even Gou, as quite a few people turn and stare at their little group.

 

Nagisa waves until the train is long out of view. “Come on, he can’t see us anymore,” scolds Gou, and pulls Nagisa into a sideways hug. “He’ll be all right. Let’s go.”

 

Makoto’s a little embarrassed for Gou, but then again, Nagisa’s always been effuse in his emotions. He and Rei are just really good friends, and besides, Nagisa makes a fuss about everything.

 

As they walk up the hill towards the town, Haru and Rin’s sweat-dampened heads rising and falling in front of them, Nagisa and Gou bickering about the results of some television reality show, it strikes Makoto that he’s really on his own now.


	5. Chapter 5

Hoping to keep himself occupied, he gets a job at a small bakery for the summer. The fact that it’s pretty close to the Matsuokas’ house worries him at first. As it turns out, one of the twins does stop by a lot, but it’s Gou, not Rin, and that he’s perfectly fine with.

 

They fall into a pleasant routine—every morning right after they open, Gou drops in for breakfast before she heads off to her job at a lab at a nearby university. That early, the place is usually pretty much deserted, so Makoto can chat with her for a few minutes while she tears apart her croissant or toast with a vicious efficiency that reminds him of her brother.

 

The only other cashier in the place is a part-timer named Sho, an easy-going, talkative guy who works perfectly hard during the rush hours but seems to enjoy spending the rest of his time constructing incredibly complex latte art. Makoto gets along well with him pretty much straight from the first day—with everything that’s going on with the Iwatobi crew right now, it’s nice to talk to someone uninvolved in the drama.

 

“So you haven’t found your match yet?” Sho is bent nearly double over a cup of espresso, moving a pitcher of milk over it in miniscule movements. He’s probably doing the Mona Lisa or something. “That’s rough. But hey—I’m nineteen already and I still haven’t found mine, so there you go. We’re both losers,” he laughs.

 

“I—I don’t really want to.” Makoto moves the cloth too quickly over the counter and knocks over the tip jar. “Ah, shit.”

 

“Shoot.” Sho abandons the coffee. “Here, let me—”

 

Together, they hunch over the floor, picking coins out of crevices.

 

“So?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why don’t you want to?”

 

“Um. I—there’s another person I sort of liked. And another one of our friends got matched with them, and I wasn’t really… I don’t really want to be with anyone else. I know that doesn’t make sense…”

 

Scattering the last of the change back into the jar, Sho sets it carefully back on the counter before responding.

 

“Wow. That blows. Big fucking time. You must be pissed at this other guy.”

 

“Well, not really—at him.”

 

“Just in general, though.”

 

A smile slips onto Makoto’s face. “Sort of, yeah.”

 

“Dude.” Sho looks down at the cooling coffee, makes a face at his progress, and takes a sip. “You’re way too fucking nice. I woulda punched him, probably.”

 

Makoto laughs, wry, thinking of Rin, his shark-teeth and his corded arms, his swimmer’s build. “You wouldn’t if you knew him.”

 

“Yeah? You’re a big guy. I bet you could take him.”

 

He says this, yet Sho’s only an inch or two shorter than him. “Maybe you could. You’re more, uh, confrontational.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Give me this dude’s address, man, and I swear I’ll walk right up to him and give him a clean one on the chin.” He sketches a slow-motion uppercut, clicking his tongue as he hits an imaginary jaw. “‘Here’s one for Tachibana,’ you know?”

 

“Thanks for the offer,” laughs Makoto.

 

One of Sho’s eyebrows quirks upwards. “You think I’m joking.”

 

“Aren’t you?”

 

“I dunno, give me his address and we’ll find out.”

 

Smiling, he complains, “But if you get arrested, who’s going to help me when we get busy?”

 

“Shit, man, that’s why you gotta cover for me. Give them a, fuck, what d’you call it—an alibi, like in those mystery movies.”

 

Makoto pulls a mock-serious face. “Officer, I swear on my mother’s life that Sho was here at eleven o’clock.”

 

“Not your _mom_ —what if they find out? Maybe, like, on your little brother or something—”

 

“That’s horrible, Sho.”

 

“Again with the too-nice thing, Tachibana.”

 

“Do you have siblings?”

 

“I have an older brother. We hate each other’s guts. He’d be the first to throw me under the bus. Or, you know, vice versa.”

 

He gets the impression that Sho’s something of a troublemaker. Something about the slightly bow-legged way he walks, or the sleek silver flask he keeps tucked inside the breast pocket of his jacket, “for boredom”—maybe he _could_ take on Rin. Yet he’s also the type of person to be perfectly content sitting quietly in the corner with his pitcher of milk and his coffee, constructing little cats and flowers and snowflakes. Sometimes when Makoto drags himself in after a particularly sleepless night, Sho will plunk a grinning Doraemon or a floppy-winged penguin in front of Makoto’s nose, insisting that they won’t get in trouble if they help themselves to a bit of espresso.

 

Before he knows it, they’re two weeks deep in summer, and he hasn’t seen hide or tail of the Iwatobi crew, minus Gou. Did it used to be him, who’d gather them all to hang out during breaks? He can’t quite remember. Several times he finds his finger hovering over the speed-dial for Haru, but he never brings himself to press the number. Probably, if Haru doesn’t call him first, he’s busy with other things (Rin, Rin-Rin-Rin), and Makoto should let him be.

 

Of course, Rei is gone. As for Nagisa, Makoto assumes at first that he’s been hanging around with Gou. But though she chatters away about her brother and occasionally Haru, she never mentions him. When Makoto eventually asks, her lips skew instantly into a frown.

 

“He’s _busy_ ,” she scowls, fingers sketching scornful quotation marks in the air. “With _what,_ even?”

 

“I dunno. I haven’t talked him with either.”

 

“Something’s up with him. I just wish he’d talk to me about it. Y’know? I mean, it’s Nagisa. You can like never shut him up normally.”

 

“He’s been like that with all of us.”

 

“Yeah, but he should at least tell _me_.”

 

In truth, it’s still Rei who seems to know the most; when Makoto texts him to confide in Gou’s concerns, he alludes vaguely to Nagisa going through some “personal things,” before refusing to divulge more. Makoto understands Gou’s frustrations, really, but he can’t bring himself to blame Nagisa for feeling ill at ease with his match, not when he’s been doing such a _stellar_ job of handling his own. Still, he feels like it’s his duty to right things between Gou and Nagisa—she does have the right to know, doesn’t she? _At least_ she’s _going about this whole bond thing correctly…_

 

But trying to pry information out of Rei is like trying to pull apart a brick wall by the fingernails. Having realized the mistake of admitting anything in the first place, he’s clammed up completely, and Nagisa deflects any and all inquiries with a combination of Teflon-strength cheeriness and a tendency to conveniently forget to check his text messages. Helpless, all Makoto can do is avoid the topic with an increasingly irritated Gou.

 

Then, out of the blue, Nagisa texts him asking him to get lunch—and explicitly asks him not to tell Gou.

 

Makoto shows up to the little Korean-style café all sorts of apprehensive. What in all hell is happening between the two of them, anyway? Nagisa’s already there, sitting outside—he’s gone and got his hair cut, and it’s shorter and wavier than ever.

 

They order and eat and chat about nothing in particular while Makoto plots how to go about figuring out what’s going on that’ll meet the least resistance.

 

“You know, I kind of thought you’d moved to Shinagawa too,” he jokes. “I haven’t seen you around all summer.”

 

“Oh, no—I’ve been around Iwatobi.”

 

“Yeah? We should go out with everyone else some day. Rin and Haru and Gou—ask her if she wants to go to the beach or something.”

 

Nagisa glances down at his plate. _Bingo._ “I haven’t, uh…”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I’ve been kind of busy with family things.”

 

“Oh…”

 

Nagisa toys with a strand of his hair, before saying quietly, “My mom and dad are getting divorced.”

 

A heavy weight settles in Makoto’s chest. _Shit. So that’s…_

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

 

He shrugs. “I kinda saw it coming. It sounds bad to say, but it was one of those things where it was just a matter of time, you know?”

 

Makoto nods mutely. Actually, he has no idea. His own parents have always been so stolidly together that he thinks of them as one unit, like a newspaper and the ink printed on it.

 

“And, I mean, I guess it’s not like they’re matched, so…”

 

He hadn’t known. But of course, there’s plenty of couples, even married ones, who aren’t matched—one in seven billion are pretty tough odds to beat, after all. He wonders what it’s like, living with someone whose wrist is marked with a stranger’s name. It has to be awkward. Do you just ignore it? Or is it a kind of silent mutual agreement, to be one another’s temporary holdovers?

 

“That’s why my mom had us so late. I think she was trying to wait until she’d found her match, but, you know. I dunno. Probably if they were matched they would have tried to work it out, but the way things are, there’s nothing really to keep them together. Honestly I think they were just holding out until I left for college. You know those waiting rooms, like at airports? That’s what our house is like. Just—waiting. It’s kind of an uncomfortable atmosphere.”

 

“I’m sure they still, you know, loved one another, though. I mean, they had you and your sisters.”

 

“That’s what I used to think. I mean, I didn’t even know they weren’t matched until junior high. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. I love them both, though.” His voice catches. “A lot. I wish they didn’t have to split up.”

 

He sighs, shaky. Makoto can tell he’s trying not to cry. After a minute, he says, “I’ve worried Gou-chan, though. I’m not a very good boyfriend.”

 

“She’s just been worried about you because she doesn’t know. Of course she’ll understand.”

 

“I just—it’s hard to talk to her about these things. Not because it’s Gou-chan’s fault, I mean! But, like—okay, this might sound weird, but I kind of think maybe our matching was what made them get divorced. After New Years my mom got really weird about everything, and I didn’t really know why, but then suddenly I like realized, what if she got upset because I already found my match? Because none of my sisters found theirs as fast as me, and she wasn’t weird about it then. But I get how she might be, like… jealous? Or it’s hard for her, because she still hasn’t found hers…and Dad too. So…”

 

“Nagisa, it’s not your fault.”

 

“But do you get it? Like, I don’t think that’s that crazy of a theory.”

 

“But you said—you saw it coming, right? I mean, yeah, maybe your matching reminded your mom of some negative things. But in the end, if they were going to get divorced, there must have been older problems that totally had nothing to do with you. In the end it’s completely a matter that’s between them. So please don’t blame yourself.”

 

“I know, I know, that’s what my sisters keep telling me. But sometimes you can’t just stop thinking these things.”

 

Sighing, he leans against Makoto’s shoulder, and Makoto gives him a sideways-hug.

 

“Hang in there. If you ever want to talk to somebody...”

 

“Thanks. Mako-tan’s the best listener.”

 

The next time Gou comes in for her croissant, he lasts all of a few minutes before telling her. “I, uh, sort of ran into him in town the other day. He wanted to apologize to you. He’s been having some family troubles, so that’s why…”

 

Gou’s face softens instantly from its irritated squint. She sits back with a little huff.

 

“He could’ve at least texted me back. Or just told me about it!”

 

“I don’t think he really wants to talk about it.”

 

“He told you, didn’t he?”

 

“Not that much. I think he needs some space for now.”

 

“ _Mou._ That’s the point of a match. You’re supposed to be able to tell them anything. For someone who talks so much, Nagisa can be awfully close-mouthed.”

 

Makoto shrugs. _Not like I would know…_ It’s selfish of him, but right now he doesn’t want to deal with balancing the weight of Gou and Nagisa and his parents’ divorce. _Anyway, since they’re matched, it’ll all work out in the end—it’s got to. So someone like me doesn’t need to interfere._

Gou pokes him in the arm, startling him out of his thoughts.

 

“And he’s not the only one.”

 

“The only what?”

 

“The only one who’s suspiciously quiet lately! I feel like I’ve barely talked to you all summer.”

 

“Come on, Gou, you see me like three times a week.”

 

“Yeah, for like three minutes, and then it’s always just me talking. I wanna hear what’s going on with you.”

 

He laughs uneasily. “Really, not much. I don’t have a match, so I don’t have all this news like you guys.”

 

“You _have_ a match, you just haven’t found them yet.”

 

“Yeah, sure—that’s what I meant, I guess. I don’t know. It just hasn’t been a very eventful year. And with this whole match thing, I’m not in a hurry or anything. I’m okay with…” He shrugs. “Things being just kind of boring.”

 

“If you say so… I don’t know. Sometimes I look at you and you seem—kind of sad. I know a lot of us got matched up, but I don’t want you to feel left out. We’re all still the same people.”

 

A searing flash of irritation. _As if anything’s the same anymore._ “But it’s different, too. I mean, like you and Nagisa, you guys feel differently now, right?”

 

She hesitates for a second. “Yeah, we’re getting—closer to each other. We’re different from Haru and Rin-rin, I think. Theirs was like, boom, instant, but we’re slower. Honestly... that bothered me at first. But I’ve gotten used to it.”

 

_Good. You’ve got the rest of your life to live with it._

Makoto rubs his temples. Some of the things that run through his mind… He doesn’t understand this wellspring of hatred, bubbling black and bitter at his chest, where it came from or how to exorcise it. At least, after half an year of pretending, he knows it doesn’t show in his face. But it bothers him, immensely. _This isn’t me. I’m not angry like this._

 

Gou checks her watch. “Crap, gotta go. See? It’s always like this, me running off. Promise me we’ll go out for lunch sometime.”

 

“Does your lab ever give you time off?”

 

“… Not really. But dinner. Or something! Come to our house.”

 

“Text me,” he calls as she hurries out the door, even as he knows that he’ll never visit the Matsuokas’ home, because more likely than not he’ll run into Rin there, and even more unbearably, Haru with him.

 

“She’s cute,” comments Sho from the behind the pyramid of paper cups he’s been building.

 

“Gou’s just a friend.”

 

“Yeah, I figured.”

 

For a moment, Makoto’s tempted to ask what he means by that, but then twenty hyperactive kids dressed for a fieldtrip and their harried looking daycare teacher bustle into the shop, and there is no time for conversation for a quarter hour.

 

Sho gets off shift early that day, so Makoto closes up the shop by himself, heaving chairs onto tables as the baker and his two assistants clean off the stoves in the back room. He says goodbye to the rest of the workers and catches the bus into the town center to return some clothes that didn’t fit the twins. The air is hot and close and dripping-wet with humidity; he just misses the next bus out, so he wanders into the shade of the big train terminal across the street. He buys himself a soda and has just sat down on one of the benches under the pavilion when he catches sight of him.

 

“Rei?”

 

He doesn’t seem to hear him. He has his back to Makoto, standing in the middle of the platform, staring at the enormous European-looking wall clock set into the opposite wall.

 

Makoto gets up again, wiping sweat from his forehead. It’s a little odd that Rei would be in Iwatobi without telling any of them, but as he approaches, he sees that it is unmistakably him.

 

He seems to be in something of a daze and starts when Makoto taps him on the shoulder.

 

“I thought it was you. I didn’t know you were b…”

 

Makoto stops mid-sentence as Rei turns.

 

He—

 

“What happened?” His own voice sounds tight and strained to him.

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s not nothing. Your eye—”

 

“I can handle it, okay? I have to go.”

 

“Wait, Rei—”

 

On instinct, he grabs Rei’s arm. Rei glares at him—a frightening expression on his usually friendly face. “Let go.”

 

“You’re hurt. I can’t just let you walk away.”

 

“I told you, I’m fine. It’s no big deal. Let me go, or else I’ll miss my bus.”

 

“There’ll be another one.”

 

“Why’re you making such a big fucking deal out of this? I _said_ it’s nothing! Anyway, it’s none of your business!”

 

Something about the way Rei says this touches off an idea in Makoto’s head.

 

“…Does this have something to do with your match?”

 

The instant of touchy silence is all Makoto needs.

 

“Could you stop touching me?” he snaps.

 

Makoto finally lets go. “Listen, you—we don’t have to talk about it. I swear. I won’t ask. But do you know how to take care of that?”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

“It’s just, I have some first-aid at my house. Nobody’ll be home right now. If you want—do you want to come with me? I can give you some cream or something.”

 

Rei wavers. “Come on,” coaxes Makoto, like he’s talking to a stray dog. “It’ll take like ten minutes. Are you in a hurry?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update.

“Here. Let me.”

 

Makoto dabs at his eye. Rei flinches.

 

“Sorry.” Up close the wound is even grosser, all greenish-yellow skin mottled with plum dark spots. How long has he been walking around with this? More than a few days, certainly.

 

“You look exhausted.”

 

Rei doesn’t say anything. Arms barred between them.

 

When he’s done applying the cream, Makoto leans back on his heels.

 

“You’re not just going to let me go, are you.”

 

“Your wrists, too.”

 

Rei tugs his sleeves down, but too late.

 

Makoto feels wetness pricking at his eyes. He’s been this way all summer—unsteady, tears suddenly threatening him whenever he walks past the closed door of Haru’s house, or glimpses their school, or for no reason at all. Seeing Rei like this brings him back to the edge. Gazing down into a pit of broken things.

 

“Rei, please. Did your match do this?”

 

Rei swallows, hard. In a very low voice, he says, “It was my fault, anyway, so don’t look like that.”

 

“Oh my god…”

 

“Everyone at his work place knows we’re matched anyway, so I thought it wasn’t a big deal if I—hung out with them and stuff, even without him around. It—it’s not like any of them was going to try anything. And it’s so easy. They’re all, you know, really friendly. We were all just _friends._ ” He sighs, quavery. _“_ But he didn’t like it. I should have been more careful.”

 

“That’s bullshit. He’s an adult—if he didn’t like it, he should have talked to you about it. He should never have hit you.”

 

Rei ignores him. “It’s hard, because it’s like he doesn’t want me to—to talk to anyone else. And I can’t be with you guys, and so. It’s been kind of difficult.” His eyes are brimming; on the last word, the first of them breaks free.

 

For a moment a malevolent whisper rises up in Makoto’s ears— _God, I don’t want to deal with this, someone else—_

He quashes it forcibly.

 

“I just want it to work,” chokes Rei, voice spilling into the sleeve of his jacket as he hides his face in his arms. “I really, really fucking want it to work.”

 

“No—listen, I know you’re matched and everything, but this isn’t okay.”

 

“It’ll be fine. We’re matched. So it’ll be fine.”

 

And there’s the rub of it. Rei’s own voice comes back to him— _the map doesn’t do that._ But Makoto can’t bring himself to see this as just some sort of rough patch. If the map didn’t exist, this kind of thing would be an instant dealbreaker. He just has to find a way to make Rei understand that.

 

“Just because you’re matched, he has the right to hit you? There are laws against that! You’re just making excuses for him—”

 

“You don’t understand. You haven’t found your match, so you don’t—know what it’s like. I love him. You’ll see too, someday.”

 

_You haven’t found your match, so you don’t—_

 

And that, that’s unfair. That’s so fucking…

 

Suddenly a wild feeling is rearing up in the pit of his stomach. Makoto clamps a hand over his mouth. His heartbeat ratchets up, rocketing into the void of space.

 

“Makoto-san?”

 

He barely makes it to the bathroom. It’s more violent than it’s ever been, like a pair of arms reaching into his throat and pulling the loops of him out. By the time he’s finished, he is dizzy. Weakness loosens the screws and pins of his arms and legs. It takes him a minute to figure out how to push himself up again.

 

Rei is kneeling behind him, hands awkwardly patting his back.

 

“…Anyway, you look exhausted too. Are you sick?”

 

“He shouldn’t have hit you,” mutters Makoto, wiping his mouth. “That’s not right.”

 

“What do you want me to do? It’s not like I can leave him.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Rei just stares at him, and Makoto knows the answer before Rei ever opens his mouth. His stomach roiling and hurting.

 

“We’re matched.”

 

()

 

Before he’d left, Rei had made him swear not to tell anyone else.

 

“This is something between me and him. If you tell them, they’ll just make everything messier.”

 

Makoto bites his lip. “Fine. But the moment break’s over and you come back, you have to tell me everything. Okay?”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

He couldn’t stop worrying about it literally all night, heartbeat ratcheting up in cycles as Rei’s injuries floated like wreckage in the reddish sea of his closed eyelids. As the clock crawled from hour to hour, he seesawed madly through different options, mind swooping like a trapped insect between _I’m going to tell someone, I have to tell someone,_ and _but they’re matched, and Rei’s an adult, and he’ll hate me if I tell, and he made me promise,_ and back to _this is wrong, I have to stop it, should I call the police?_ By dawn he was exhausted and not an inch closer to either sleep or a solution.

 

A customer comes in. “ _Irasshaimase_ ,” he calls. As he rings up the order and digs up change from the crusty cash register, he thinks, Christ _, Rei. I hope you know what you’re doing._

 

“ _Fuck._ ”

 

Makoto glances up. Sho is draped across the counter like the world’s most melodramatic tablecloth.

 

“It’s so _fucking_ hot.”

 

He shoves aside a bunch of chairs and a table.

 

Makoto eyes him as he lies on his back on the ground. “What’re…?”

 

“You should try it. ‘S cooler down here.”

 

“Someone’s going to step on you.”

 

“Perfect. Then I’ll get sent to the hospital. They’ll have AC there for sure,” he mumbles. “Hey, could you take that thing out of the freezer?”

 

“What…” He opens it, and Sho’s flask tumbles out; he barely catches it before it hits the floor. “Oh.”

 

 “Give it here.” Sho clambers up, unscrewing the lid. “Mmm, ice-cold. Fucking delicious. You want some?”

 

“We still have, like, three hours of shift left.”

 

“It’s not strong, I swear. Come on, let me corrupt you at least a little, or you’ll make me feel bad.”

 

After a moment, Makoto holds out his hand, and takes a sip. The metal of the flask is pleasantly, shockingly cold; its contents taste vaguely tropical and burn a line of frost down his throat. He breathes for a few seconds, then takes another long gulp, the rim of the flask an icy kiss against his lips.

 

Sho is watching him appraisingly. “Well, shit, Tachibana. Look at you.”

 

“Mm. It tastes kinda—”

 

“Coconutty?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“It’s good, huh? Some Spanish shit or something my ex left in the fridge. I’d say this alone was worth the clusterfuck.” After Makoto takes a third gulp, Sho puts his hand over his and pulls the flask down. “Slow down there. It’s not that strong, but it isn’t water either. You’re not a lightweight, are you?”

 

“I’m…” He makes an in-between gesture. “Okay.”

 

“…As long as you can stand straight, we’ll be fine.”

 

He can stand (pretty) straight, but the rest of the afternoon does go by swiftly and rather… pleasantly. He’s perhaps speaking a little louder than he normally would. He can tell Sho’s amused by him.

 

After they clean up, Sho steers him outside by the elbow. “Are you gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah.” He hiccups. “Anyway, I don’t have anything else to do today. I can get wasted if I want.”

 

“Shit, man, if that’s your plan, you should come over to my place. I’ve got more of this, and a lot of other stuff besides.”

 

Right now, more of _a lot of other stuff_ sounds just about perfect. “I’m down.”

 

Sho’s home is small and neat and clean and his refrigerator is a virtual arsenal of drinks, most of which are foreign brands Makoto has never heard of. He sits at the tall stools at Sho’s counter while he mixes them drinks, Coca-cola and juice and sparkling water shimmering in plastic cups like miniature oases. Dutifully, Makoto takes everything he gives him, insisting he’s fine every time Sho asks.

 

After a while they migrate to the couch. Sho’s downgraded them to light beer—“I _know_ you’re okay, but you’re looking a little sloshy there, man”—which they down while making fun of crappy daytime soaps.

 

When he comes back from the bathroom—and he’s fine, he’s _fine,_ but wow everything is sort of spinning a lot—he tries to fall into the empty side of the couch and misjudges and sort of falls on Sho instead.

 

“Shit,” Sho wheezes, squirming underneath Makoto. “I think over there’s the spot you’re looking for.”

 

“Sorry. Sorry.”

 

“You’re heavy, dude.” Sho gently levers Makoto’s elbow off his chest. “You an athlete?”

 

“Swimmer.”

 

He’s mainly managed to clamber off Sho, but their shoulders remain pressed together, overwarm and slightly sweaty even in the AC. He feels kind of sleepy. He slouches a little so he can lean his head against Sho’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbles again.

 

“‘S fine. Hey.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Don’t take this weird, but you’re kinda hot.”

 

Makoto blinks.

 

“You’re…?”

 

“Gay?” Sho laughs, and shows Makoto his wrist. It takes him too long to decipher them into a man’s name. “Never not been. It’s like destiny.”

 

“What… is?”

 

“You and me. We’re both single, and we met up like this.”

 

Vaguely, Makoto is aware of where the conversation is heading.

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Want a relationship, right? I know. It’s fine. You ever heard of a summer fling?”

 

He bats lightly at Sho’s hand, and doesn’t fight him off when he catches it in his and doesn’t let go. “I _know_ what a fling is.”

 

“Just checking. You’re kinda clueless sometimes.” His hand is on Makoto’s hip and then it’s _on_ Makoto’s hip, running underneath his shirt. “Is this okay?”

 

“Mhm. I—”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I—don’t really know how to…”

 

Sho’s hand stops for a second. “You’ve never done this before? You’re fucking with me.”

 

“No!” He can feel himself flushing, but isn’t sure whether it’s heat or embarrassment or alcohol. “Quit making fun of me.”

 

“I’m not making fun of you! I’m just surprised. Not even with that guy you…”

 

Makoto fumbles for the beer and downs the rest of it quickly. “No, never.”

 

“Shit,” breathes Sho. “That kid’s a fool then.” His hand runs over Makoto’s stomach, brushing a long line of buzzing warmth along it. It feels—good.

 

Sho grins.

 

“Want me to show you?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

He wakes early in the morning with a beast of a hangover. Just the weight of Sho’s sprawled-out arm on his chest is enough to make him go red in the hazy dawn light. His phone informs him he’s got like fifteen minutes to make it to work. When he gets up to go to the bathroom he almost falls over, as if the switches and signals for his limbs had been scrambled overnight.

 

He feels—

 

Oddly upset.

 

It had felt good, in the moment, especially since Sho had known what he was doing. Better than good. But it—wasn’t—

 

_Haru?_

He freezes in the middle of spashing water on his face.

 

_Didn’t you dream of doing this with Haru?_

Well, it wasn’t as if that was ever going to happen. So—so, it’s fine—

 

_But weren’t you just using Sho? Are you even interested in him outside of sex?_

It’s not like he’d gone to his house with the intention of _doing_ anything. And anyways, it was Sho who’d—

_Really? Is that the truth? Admit it. Hadn’t you been thinking this would happen? Why else did you get so drunk? It’s because you only have the courage to do anything when you’re drunk._

So? So what? Even if he was drunk, last night was fine.

 

_Was this how you’d wanted your first time to go? Smashed, a one-night-stand? How ugly._

He’s clenching the edge of Sho’s miniscule sink like he intends to break it. Breathing tight.

 

Why does he always have to be like this? Why can’t he ever just fucking _enjoy_ something without this stupid fucking voice beating him down? _You’re not good enough._ Every fucking little thing, every smile—it just won’t leave him _alone._ For a moment, he fantasizes about lying down in an operating theater, a doctor standing over him and opening up his skull and just—digging it out.

Unsteadily, he releases the sink. Okay. Stop. Stop thinking. He has things to do. He’s not sure if Sho would be okay with him borrowing his toothbrush, so he just gargles some mouthwash. His work clothes are still sweaty from yesterday, but they’re all he has, and there’s no time to go home and grab some. Home _._ Shit. He dives for his pants pocket, fishes his phone out. There’s a dozen missed calls, a cluster of red alerts glaring at him accusatorily. _Fuck. Get your shit together. Why the fuck didn’t you call home? Mom and Dad will be freaking out._

He dials home with one hand and pulls his socks on with the other. There has to be a comb somewhere around here. His mom picks up in half a ring. Her voice is shot to pieces with worry and guilt takes Makoto by the throat, squeezing. “I stayed at a friend’s house.”

 

“Haru’s?”

 

His breathing tightens more, folding in on itself like a crumpled piece of paper. “No. Someone else.”

 

Fuck. He’ll just have to use his fingers. He’s like ten minutes late already. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I forgot to call.” The mirror pretty much just confirms that he’s a mess. Pale, sweaty, the shadows beneath the eyes that have been there for months now. He’s lost weight, too, cheeks hollowing out. His face is weirdly broad looking, and heavily expressionless, hanging from his bones like a slab of meat. He hangs up. _God, why did Sho even want to do that with me? He’s way more attractive._ Shit, yesterday was Thursday! That means nobody picked the twins up from their summer school. Fuck. Fuck. He’s never drinking at work again. It’s eight already. He has to go. Should he just leave Sho snoring away, here? If he’d woken up on time he could have left him some breakfast or something. Quavering, he wastes another five minutes hunting for a pen and notepad in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what to say, so he ends up just scrawling, “Going to the bakery. Thanks for letting me stay over :)” and pinning it to the fridge with a pineapple-shaped magnet.

 

Once he’s out of the house, he runs. His breathing sounds weirdly loud to him in the early-morning silence. He imagines it scraping out of him in pieces, rattling along behind him like garbage blown by wind. Running is strengthening his headache, every footfall feeding it. About six blocks down, he has to stop and breathe, the pain flashing bright somewhere behind his eyes. The air hurts his raw throat, and he feels vaguely like he needs to throw up.

 

“Makoto?”

 

He flinches, on edge. “H-hey, Gou,” he pants, kneading his hands into his aching eyes.

 

He can feel her eyeing him, his disheveled clothes, bedhead, the untied lace of one of his shoes trailing helplessly in the road like a broken arm.

 

“Why—aren’t you supposed to be at work already?”

 

“Uh. I forgot to set my alarm.”

 

“Okay… are you okay? You look kind of—” Gou suddenly stops in her tracks, glancing back up the street.

 

“What?”

 

“…Isn’t your house the other way?”

 

“I—”

 

“Wait. Wait. Don’t tell me you didn’t go home last night.”

 

Heat crawls up Makoto’s skin. “Please, Gou-chan. I have a headache, so let’s not…”

 

“Oh my God. You hooked up with someone, didn’t you?” Gou hits him in the arm. “Was it that guy you work with?”

 

“How did…”

 

“Come on. I’m there every day watching him slobber over you. Tachibana Makoto, I’m shocked.”

 

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have done it.” He’s snapping at her and he shouldn’t but the pain and roiling nausea of the hangover is sapping him of his self-control. “Now I’m late and I forgot to pick up the twins yesterday, and I didn’t call home, and I have a headache.”

 

She takes a step back, as if his words physically shoved her. “What? It’s no big deal. I’m not judging you. He’s cute. Good for you.”

 

“No, it’s not… Never mind. I’m sorry.”

 

She stares at him, bewildered. “Are you okay?” she asks again.

 

 _Why does everyone keep_ fucking _asking that?_

 

“I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

 

At the bakery, she stands silently at the counter as he fumbles open the cash register. The boss, a middle-aged woman with two tufts of graying hair at her temples like the icing swirls on a cake, is glowering at him from the doorway to the kitchen. _Nice going, Tachibana, you’re going to get yourself fired._

Gou empties the correct change into his hand without a word, and leaves quickly.

 

When Sho arrives for the afternoon shift, Makoto’s managed to get himself together. Still, he doesn’t know how to bring up yesterday, so he doesn’t, and Sho doesn’t either. He’s aware it’s a problem he’ll have to resolve at some point, but he’s beyond relieved that he doesn’t have to do it now.

 

()

 

The heat continues to flay Iwatobi for all of the next week, plastered over the city thick and wet as flesh in the way only seaside air can. Makoto helps his dad push the living room furniture aside, and they throw down the lightest of futons on the cool wood floor, Ren and Ran giggly and excited with the novelty of it, scattering throw pillows from the couch onto the floor like candy.

 

After eleven, Makoto lies there, rigid, thoughts stirring murkily like eyeless, heartless jellyfish in the dark sea of his closed eyelids, head hurting. Nagisa and Gou. Nagisa’s parents. Rei, moving in with his match. Rei’s bruised eye. Nagisa and Rei. Matches. Sho. Haru and Rin. Haru, who he hasn’t seen all summer. Haru. Haru.

 

He hears Ren and Ran drop off first, then after a long while his parents. Eventually, he gives up, and gets up quietly. Luckily, none of the Tachibanas are light sleepers—before this year, Makoto could’ve slept through earthquakes. When he drops one of his sneakers in the dark, none of his family so much as stirs. He turns to look at them before he goes. They look so—good. Like a shelf of perfectly alphabetized books, or a completed thousand-piece puzzle; everything in its place, everything perfect.

 

Outside, the air is still dark and the tiniest bit cool, but already threatening warmth, like an oven about to spark to life. Iwatobi’s a small town; there’s not a single soul on the streets at this sort of godless hour, and even the cats seem to have had the good sense to go to sleep. Makoto wades up the steps aimlessly, knee-deep in the sound of crickets, brushing aside fronds of moonlight. Normally he finds the ill-lit streets of his neighborhood a little unnerving, but tonight he doesn’t find he minds it.

 

Right now, he almost feels at peace. This is better than the kind of sleep he’s been getting—a sort of white-knuckled, dreamless state that reminds him of being a kid and lying in the dentist’s chair, body tight as wire and helpless as steel descends into his mouth.

 

For a blessed stretch of time, he loses the markings of the seconds and just drifts. Thoughtless, mindless as a cloud. Free.

 

Slowly, he climbs all the thousand steps to the crest of the hill overlooking the sea. Wanders through the small park at the top, brown grass like the threadbare knees of Ren’s pants and tree leaves dense as questions. There’s a lopsided bench at the outlook where he sits. The edge of the sky is beginning to blush light blue; he’d forgotten how early the sun rose in the summer. Dawn can’t be far off.

 

“Tachibana?”

 

His heart shoots straight into his throat and he leaps up.

 

“Calm down, I’m not a fucking axe murderer.” Rin circles around the bench and comes to stand next to Makoto. Plucking his earbuds out of his ears, he asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Th-... That’s what I was going to say.”

 

“Jogging.”

 

Makoto glances at his watch. “It’s five-forty.”

 

“So? The bus for school comes at seven and I have to stretch and cool down and shit.”

 

“It’s still kind of extreme.”

 

“What’re you judging me for? You’re an athlete, you know how it is. Anyway, stop dodging my question. And don’t try and rip off my answer—you obviously aren’t dressed for it.”

 

“…Mm. Sort of… I couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”

 

Rin gives him a bit of a look, but he lets it go. “Better be careful walking around in the dark all by yourself. Big guy like you, you never know what mountain-sized mugger could be prowling around.”

 

“Come on. We’re in Iwatobi, not Tokyo.”

 

“I’m _joking._ Jesus. As if anyone could just take you down.”

 

There’s an awkward moment of silence. Makoto expects Rin to continue on his way, but he just stands there, shifting from foot to foot, fiddling with the strap around the neck of his water bottle.

 

“This summer’s been kind of weird.”

 

“Really? I don’t…”

 

“How the fuck _isn’t_ it? Rei’s gone, Nagisa’s vanished, Gou’s pissed off twenty-four-seven. And you’ve been…”

 

“I’ve been what?”

 

“I don’t know. We haven’t hung out much.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? It’s just me and the Mackerel, day in and day out.”

 

Makoto smiles faintly. “Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

 

Rin flushes and looks away. “Sure? But… I dunno. It feels like everyone’s doing their own thing. And this is our last summer. Before we graduate. Fuck, I don’t know why I’m being such a girl about this. Basically I’m saying you should come hang out with us sometime.”

 

“You and Haru?”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Christ. Yes, me and Haru. It’s not like we’re gonna start making out in front of you. You don’t have to be so damn squeamish about it. I get it—it’s weird for you—”

 

Makoto’s heart jolts. For a moment, his face freezes in an odd expression—a crossroads with too many passengers moving through.

 

“—guys, right? It’s fucking awkward for me too. When people make a big deal out of it. In the end nothing’s really changed that much.”

 

“Before—”

 

“Hm?”

 

“…Nevermind.”

 

“Before what?”

 

 _Damn it._ Rin never did know how to let things go. “Did you… like, guess? That it was going to end up like that?”

 

“…We messed around before. But not far. I’m not gonna lie, I’d fucking hoped. Fuck, that night I threw up before we went out, I was so nervous. But I thought, you know, there’s like fucking a hundred billion people in the world, there’s no way, right?”

 

He breaks eye contact, then, staring off vaguely to his left, and Makoto knows right away that he’s about to say something uncomfortable,

 

“Honestly—I—kind of thought it might be you.”

 

Makoto blinks.

 

“Fuck. That was weird, wasn’t it.”

 

“No, I just… never thought about that…”

 

“’Cause you and him knew each other for, like, fucking-ever. So I thought—you know, maybe—actually, let’s not talk about it. This is too fucking weird. Forget it.”

 

Makoto already knows what lines he has to recite next. He’d prepared, in those dozens of sleepless hours, rehearsing for precisely this sort of dawn-lit scene.

 

But the words still hurt like a stab in the gut, like hands at his ankle and neck, wringing the air out of him. At the last second Makoto can’t quite meet Rin’s eyes.

 

“Haru and I are just friends.”

 

He waits, queasy. All that preparation and the curtain’s already coming down. He has no idea how the delivery was.

 

Rin nods, and the line of his legs tells Makoto he’s ready to take off again.

 

“Yeah. I figured.”

 

Makoto nods back. The heaviness of his thoughts has returned, clinging to his aching neck. After Rin leaves, he continues to sit there as dawn unrolls itself over him and the world, cheery and uncaring. For a moment, hot tears stab frantically at his eyes.

 

But he tilts his head back for a few seconds and they sink straight back into him, like rain into parched soil.

 

()

 

Second semester is a week away when his parents come home with smiles in their eyes and “a surprise.”

 

When Ren and Ran tear open the envelopes and see the tickets to DisneySea, there’s near chaos for about five minutes.

 

Makoto quavers about it for a few hours. Before he can lose his courage, he confronts his parents that night.

 

“…Anyway, I’d have to go home two days early since school starts Monday,” he finishes lamely.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

His mother’s face is so shocked that guilt coils tight around his throat, squeezing. _This was a mistake._ He back-pedals—“But if you—I get it if you want it to be a family-only thing. Actually, never mind, I’ll go with you guys. I’ll just—it’s fine. Never mind.”

 

“If you don’t want to go, that’s fine,” his father says gently. “It’s a little childish, right? I’m sure one of Ren or Ran’s friends will want to come along.”

 

Makoto smiles, relieved. “You’ll have to hold a vote to decide.”

 

His parents take Friday off of work. They almost miss the nine a.m. train because his mom won’t stop fussing worriedly over him. His dad has to pry her away—“He’ll be fine, honey, he’s eighteen already.”

 

Still, as he helps load their bags onto the high-speed train to Tokyo, she says to him for the hundredth time, “And you’ll call us every night?”

 

“Yeah, Mom.”

 

“Go to Haruka-kun’s place if anything happens, you hear? I don’t care if you’re eighteen—bad things can happen to anybody.”

 

“Now I’m frightened,” he teases. “Relax. Have fun. Tokyo will be great. I have to get off now, or else it’s going to leave.”

 

“Well, I—all right—Ren, Ran, say bye-bye! Where are they—”

 

“They’re in their seats with Dad, Mom. It’s fine. I think they’re thinking about other things already.”

 

He waves goodbye until the train’s out of sight. It’s not the first time one or the other of his parents have been gone, but it is the only time he can remember when he’ll be completely alone in the house. Standing at the emptying station, a long sigh shudders out of him like some parasite, and he lets his face melt into blankness as he heads back to his house.

 

He hopes his parents and the twins forget all about him once they get to Tokyo. He knows it’s selfish of him to want to stay behind, but he honestly can’t stomach three days and nights in the “happiest place on earth.” Not at the tail of this kind of summer. _It’s better this way,_ he coaxes himself half-heartedly. _If you’d gone you would have just been a wet blanket._ At least little Kenjiro, whom the kids at the twins’ school tease Ran mercilessly about having a crush on, will appreciate Makoto’s absence.

 

The house is cool and dark. He leaves the lights off and does the dishes, absentmindedly cleaning up after the twins’ mess. When there’s nothing left to straighten out or pick up or return to its place, he lies down on the floor. There’s only one mess he has left to take care of, and its name is Makoto Tachibana. It has been seven goddamn months. _That’s more than enough indulging yourself._

He needs—

 

He wants to be with someone. Viscerally. To feel the animal warmth of another person at his side. He wants someone to kiss him or fuck him. It would make him feel good, wouldn’t it?

 

After a moment, he deflates. It’s not like it worked the one time he tried it. In the end, it’s still Haru.

 

Without his parents or his siblings there to distract him, he finds himself spiraling into the usual doldrums. Comparing himself with Rin, point by point, like they’re two sets of math equations to be weighed and solved. Why. Why wasn’t he the one chosen. What’s wrong with him? Why wasn’t he good enough?

 

Well—

 

Rin’s smarter and stronger. He has confidence and moves like a predator. He’s straightforward. Makoto’s jealous, needy, self-pitying, unable to express himself. He’s ordinary, maybe even boring, with his small-town life, whereas Rin’s seen the world. He’s nice, but people aren’t attracted to nice—or at least Haru isn’t. Rin’s better looking, better built, better body, better swimmer. He’s Haru’s rival. Makoto could never be at that level. Rin has vision. Rin has drive. Makoto has self-inhibition and guilt and a tangle of nerves that keep him up nights in a row and occasionally crushes down on his esophagus until he has to throw up to relieve the pressure. Rin’s a bit of an ass, but at heart he’s a good guy. Can Makoto, thinking black thoughts towards two of his closest friends, really call himself that?

 

It goes on and on. Makoto’s too tired to stop the thoughts, even though he knows abstractly that he shouldn’t think these things about himself. He just sprawls on the floor and lets them run him over for a time, waiting for them to trickle to a stop, like a kid waiting for the bullies to get tired and leave.

 

It’s his phone ringing that breaks him back into reality. Slowly, he sits up. At first he thinks it’s going to be his mom, already worried sick for him, but the screen says otherwise. He takes a second to smooth his voice back into its steady, cheery, normal self, and picks up.

 

“Hey, Rei.”

 

“Makoto-san,” he says briskly. Makoto breathes in and out through his nose. Stable. Calm. He’s all right. He won’t think about those bad things. He’s listening to Rei, now. “I’ve got a favor to ask you about.”

 

The request is rather unusual. Rei tells him he’ll be late coming back to Iwatobi. “So could you clear me with the school office?”

 

“Starting the semester as a delinquent?” teases Makoto. “And you were such a model student, too. Of course I will.”

 

His relief crackles over the line like smoke from a fire. “Thank you.”

 

“No problem. They might need a note or something, though.”

 

“Eh. I’ll figure it out.”

 

There’s something a little edgy about that statement that raises Makoto’s guard. He pauses between one step and the next.

 

“Where are you?” he asks.

 

“Huh? Right now? I’m outside. In a—park.”

 

Rei always was a terrible liar. In the silence that follows, Makoto closes his eyes, straining to hear.

 

There’s a baby wailing away. A man coughing. The clatter of many footsteps.

 

“A-anyway, could you just give them the usual paperwork for now? I—”

 

And in that moment, a female voice suddenly breaks through, crackly but audible enough.

 

“Ryugazaki-kun? I need to check up on your arm—oh, I’m very sorry. I’ll—”

 

The sound goes suddenly muffled for a second—as if Rei had clapped his hand over the phone. Makoto’s heart skips a beat.

 

“—uh, what was—oh yeah, I should be back in a few days at most. So—”

 

“Are you in a hospital?” blurts Makoto.

 

Dead silence.

 

“What?” says Rei. “I’m not in a hospital. What are you talking about?”

 

“That was a nurse just then.”

 

“What? That girl? No, she’s not… She wasn’t talking to me.”

 

“She said your name.” He’s terrified now, hands turned to ice at his side. “Why are you in a hospital? She said something about—what happened to your arm?”

 

“My arm? What’re you talking about?”

 

“Did your match—did he hit you again?” The phone is slippery in his grasp with sudden, cold sweat. “Rei?”

 

“I…”

 

The line goes silent.

 

Slowly, Makoto puts the phone down. His heart is screaming in panic, galloping at a million miles a minute. His hands are numb.

 

How many weeks has it been since he last saw Rei? Three? Four?

 

He’s been such a fucking idiot.

 

Scrambling for the phone, he speed-dials three. It rings and rings for agonizing seconds, until a cheery voice picks up on the other end.

 

“Yooooo, Mako-tan, what’s up?”

 

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to be alone. He wants to see Nagisa—anyone. If he’s alone, he’s sure he’ll fall back into that bad place.

 

“Hey,” he breathes. “Could I come over right now?”

 

“Mmm, I’m at Gou-chan’s place. You know where that is, right?”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is finished. This is not a drill; I repeat, this hellhole of a story is complete. The final two chapters will be up within a week. Thanks to everyone who stuck through with the whole thing, and sorry for the lo----ong hiatus.

The Matsuokas’ home smells like butter and baking; both Nagisa and Gou are wearing aprons, and Nagisa has flour on his face and in his hair. Distractedly, Makoto thinks, _well at least these two are making up._

Gou’s smile slips from her face as she looks at him. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I—I think Rei’s in the hospital right now.”

 

As he tells his story, he keeps his eyes on Gou because he’s almost afraid of what Nagisa looks like. He and Rei always been so close; although his better judgment tells him Nagisa’s basically incapable of hatred, he’s still terribly afraid that the blonde will be angry at him.

 

When he finishes, he sneaks a glance at him. There’s certainly anger there, among other things. Gou has a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she murmurs. “That’s horrible. I can’t believe his match would do that.”

 

“I mean, I’m not sure if it is, but from the way he acted…”

 

Nagisa turns in a flurry.

 

“Nagisa?” Gou throws a worried glance at him. “What’re you…”

 

“Getting my stuff,” he calls, rummaging around under the couch. “I’m going to go there.”

 

“There is where? Makoto doesn’t know where he is.”

 

“Then I’ll find him. There can’t be that many hospitals in Shinagawa.”

 

“So you’re just going to go around asking for him at each one? Come on, Nagisa, calm down for a minute. Let’s not do anything stupid.”

 

“I’m going to find Rei-chan, and then I’m going to find out where he’s living with that guy, and I’m going to find him.”

 

“And—what, punch him in the face?”

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

“You’re not serious.” She scans his face, looking vaguely horrified. “You can’t do that. You’ll get arrested.”

 

“I don’t care. Someone needs to stand up that guy. He’s the one who should be getting arrested.”

 

Gou doesn’t seem to register the extent of Nagisa’s intent until he’s got a foot out the door. She lurches forward and grabs at his arm with both hands.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Of course.” He takes both her hands in his. “Come with me—you and Makoto, both of you.”

 

“No! That’s crazy! Running off like this, it isn’t going to help anyone!”

 

“That’s okay, too,” says Nagisa calmly, releasing her. “I’ll go, and I’ll call you guys after I find him.”

 

“That’s not the point!”

 

“Then what is?”

 

“Nagisa,” she says warningly. “You’d better not go.”

 

“How can you say that?”

 

“You’re going to get hurt!”

 

“Rei-chan’s already hurt! Do you even care about him?”

 

“I—that’s so unfair! Of course I do, but I also care about _you_! And it’s—it’s not like he’s your match! I am! So… so…”

 

There is a frozen moment, during which Nagisa and Gou stare at one another, and Makoto glances between the two of them, feeling frantic and awkward.

 

“I’m sorry,” says Nagisa softly.

 

“Nagisa!”

 

He turns and sprints down the street, turquoise backpack bobbing away into the distance.

 

“I’ll—I’d better go after him. I’m sorry,” says Makoto, before turning and chasing after Nagisa, Gou’s betrayed gaze boring into his back like two bullets.

 

Nagisa slows down eventually, but only to a quick jog. By the time he’s at the station Makoto is completely winded and several blocks behind him. When he arrives, panting for air, the place is fairly empty; he spots Nagisa’s blonde mop of hair right away, at the far end of the platform.

 

Wheezing and clutching at a stitch in his side, he walks slowly up to him. Nagisa glances at him through his bangs. On the screen of the phone in his hand, Mako can see the angry red of a missed-call notification from Gou.

 

“Please don’t try and stop me too.”

 

And Makoto knows he should know better, but he just—can’t—quite hide how bitter his next words are.

 

“I’m… not… But Gou-chan has… a point. She _is_ your other.”

 

When Nagisa looks up, it is with an expression of utter betrayal.

 

“I thought _you_ would…”

 

Makoto’s skin goes cold.

 

“Would what?” he breathes. “What are you saying?”

 

But Nagisa, his big, honey-colored eyes scanning back and forth over Makoto’s face, is shaking his head, face shuttering closed as he draws away.

 

“Sorry, I—forget I said that. Nevermind.”

 

“No. What do you mean?”

 

“You should come with me. We can find him together.”

 

“Just—wait a day,” Makoto pleads. “So we can all talk about this. Gou, too. Then we can decide what to do.”

 

A three-tone chord rings out. In a flurry, the express train pulls in.

 

“I can’t wait! I’m sorry, but I just can’t. Rei’s probably all by himself. I can’t just leave him there.”

 

“You’re going to get into trouble!”

 

The sparse line shuffles forward, and the two of them are already at the door.

 

“Sir?” The sleepy-eyed attendant glances between him and Nagisa. “Are you getting on?”

 

“I—”

 

Nagisa manages to shake free of Makoto’s hands. “It’s okay, Mako-tan. I’ll see you later, kay?”

 

“Wait—”

 

“Sir, please. You’re holding up the line. If you could just move to the side a little, please.”

 

Dazed, Makoto obeys. Inside the tinted windows of the train, Nagisa is a dim shape sliding down the aisle, a fish swimming through distant waters.

 

 _I thought_ you _would—_

He’s so furious at the implications of this that he lets Nagisa get on the train alone. Nagisa, breaking his promise to his bondmate, only to go to a friend to try and break _his_ bond as well. Like a child. So casually defying all the laws of the world. He makes it look so easy, and it pisses Makoto the hell off.

 

Some whining part of him cries, _Why won’t he help me? Why won’t anyone lift a finger for me?_

 

Already, the train is pulling away. As it picks up speed, wind whips Makoto’s bangs into his face, stinging his eyes.

 

He’s shaking again. That panicky feeling buzzing in his chest, like a storm of flies, feasting on something rotten. Makoto quashes the voice beneath an avalanche of anger, and walks away.

 

()

 

Neither Nagisa nor Rei is present at the first day of the second term.

 

When he tells Rin and Haru, quietly, in a hallway afterschool, the look that crosses Rin’s face frightens Makoto.

 

“I’ll get the tickets,” Haru says quietly, looking at Rin.

 

“What?” breathes Makoto.

 

“We have to go to him,” he says as if it’s obvious.

 

Rin’s face is frozen in anger. “You think that little shit Nagisa is going to just sit by Rei’s bedside and cry?” he snarls. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he fucking lands himself in jail by the time we get there. Don’t be fucking dense—”

 

He throws his fist forward and Makoto flinches. Haru catches at Rin’s hand before he can punch the wall. “Calm down.”

 

Rin throws him off, and Haru lets him. He looks coldly at Makoto as Rin spits in his face, “How long did you know about this?”

 

“He—he—came back o-once. In the summer.”

 

“Fuck! You _knew?_ Why the _fuck_ didn’t you say anything?”

 

“I—just—” _Shut the fuck up,_ his mind rails at him. _Stop making excuses. You fuck-up. What kind of friend are you? You’re horrible._ The voice is loud. Practically a physical presence, fists clenched, or maybe that’s just Rin growling in his face. Now he’s stumbling badly over his words, curled in on himself, breath coming quick. _Pathetic,_ it roars. _PATHETIC—_

 “He said—since they’re matched. To give it s-some time… I thought it’d be okay…”

 

“Are you fucking—oh my fucking god. I can’t fucking believe you. That’s fucking _abuse—_ ”

 

“I _know,_ ” he protests, over Rin, over the other voice, desperate. “It is, but—but I thought since they’re ma—”

 

“Stop _saying_ that! _They’re matched, they’re matched._ What the fuck does it matter? Or do you think just because they’re matched, shit like that’s okay?”

 

“Stop,” says Haru again. He glances between Rin and Makoto, eyes like water throwing themselves over Rin’s fire. “He gets it.”

 

 Rin makes a loud, angry noise, and stalks off.

 

“H-he’s right,” whispers Makoto. His heart is still beating out of his throat, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s breathing oddly—wheezing, almost. He can’t get enough air. Everything is very hot and dense. “I’m sorry. I should have said something. I’m so sorry.”

 

Haru is breathing in tight, controlled sips. He ignores the bang of the door far down the hallway as Rin slams it shut, glances down at his phone and swipes around on the screen.

 

“The bus leaves at nine-thirty. Marumachi station,” he says finally, before walking away after Rin.

 

After that, Makoto’s not sure how he ends up in a crouch on the floor—he just slides down the wall in something like shock. He’s an athlete, familiar with his body and not used to it betraying him like this, and that is just another fear to add to the trembling pile.

 

He cups his hands over his mouth and breathes through his nose, afraid to open his mouth for the churning in his stomach, like fists kneading dough.

 

He’s never messed up this badly, this completely, before, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.


	9. Chapter 9

All afternoon, an unsteady feeling sloshes around the inside of Makoto’s chest. Several times, he thinks he catches a part of the room wavering out of the corner of his eyes.

 

Something bizarre happens as he slips out of his house and begins walking to the station.

 

He’s halfway down the steps to the main road when, for no apparent reason, a wave of intense fear crushes him. The night air turns thick and hot in his throat. Liquid. He coughs, chokes. Suddenly he can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to fall—up. He’s going to fall into the air if he doesn’t grab something right now. He grabs blindly for the nearest building as panic crushes him in its fist. Wood threatening to tear in his hands. It’s so big. The sky. How had he never noticed? There’s no edge to it, no ends, and land is just a piece of paper floating over an infinite, bottomless sea.

 

When he comes back to himself, he’s on his knees, fingers digging hard into the beams of the nearest house.

 

_What the hell was that?_

He makes the remainder of his way walking as close as physically possible to the houses, trailing a hand over their rough sides like a farmer stroking a herd of cattle. Hiding under their eaves, so he doesn’t have to look at those gigantic, glittering stars, looming down and threatening to burn him alive.

 

The country night has always struck him as beautiful. _Am I going crazy?_ He’s literally too afraid to raise his eyes from the steps. Keeps watching them, spiraling down-down-down until he’s slightly wobbly and can’t tell whether he’s walking down or the stairs are shifting themselves up past him.

 

Probably… He just needs to sleep more. He hasn’t gotten a good night in forever—weeks, at least. He keeps telling himself that’s it, and makes it to the station without further incidence.

Rin and Haru arrive together, a few minutes after him. The silence between them is far from comfortable, although Rin doesn’t shout anymore. On the bus, Makoto does manage to doze off a little, snatching a few minutes of sleep at a time with that low ceiling pressing comfortingly down like a lid over him. Once they get to Shinagawa, Rin orders them a taxi straight to the general hospital.

 

As it turns out, they don’t have to go any farther. When Haru asks for Ryuugazaki Rei, the staff respond with weary politeness. Considering none of them are Rei’s family members, everything goes a lot easier than Makoto had anticipated. Then he realizes that this is because Nagisa has no doubt already gone ahead and worn the staff down.

 

When they round the corner into Rei’s room, Makoto can’t even cry. Just stare.

 

He’s so _thin._ His arm is swathed in a massive cast and bandages are bound around his forehead; gauze over one eye. He doesn’t look like he’s been hit once or twice, or had a bad run-in with a staircase—he looks like he’s been jumped by a gang, and he looks exhausted.

 

Slumped on a chair next to him and sporting a pretty impressive black eye himself, his nose plastered in a huge white bandage, is Nagisa.

 

“Hi guys,” he says cheerily, voice thick and nasal.

 

“Christ,” says Rin. He circles Nagisa, incredulous. “What the fuck happened to you?”

 

Nagisa shrugs. “Well… I guess I went and gave that guy a piece of my mind, and we sort of got in a fight.”

 

“Sort of?”

 

Nagisa smirks. “Now’s the time for the line, _wait until you see the other guy_.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

“And then, well, somebody called the cops—”

 

“You got _arrested_?”

 

“Shhh, Rin-rin, don’t blow a gasket—we don’t need someone else hospitalized. I didn’t get _arrested._ I had a fun ride in a police car, and then I just sort of sat around the station for a while and explained what was going on. They let me go after that.”

 

“You got sent to the station?”

 

“Like I said, you should’ve seen him.”

 

“Jesus,” Rin repeats. He sounds mildly impressed. “You’re a demon, Hazuki.”

 

He shrugs again. “I was angry.”

 

Makoto flinches and looks away. No one says it, but he understands who’s to blame.

 

()

 

Soon a nurse arrives and shepherds them out of the room, even Nagisa, who tries to make a case for his staying by gesturing at his injuries. On the plastic waiting bench outside Rei’s room, Nagisa instantly draws Rin into a literal blow-by-blow description of what happened, while Haru stares mutely at his phone, his arm pressed against Rin’s shoulder.

 

Makoto is antsy with guilt. He bites his lip as pressure builds like a stormhead deep inside his gut. When he gets to feeling like throwing up, he slinks off to the bathroom.

 

He leans expectantly over a toilet for a few minutes before he realizes nothing is going to happen. He will not be rid of the filth built up inside of him, poisoning him from the inside out. He doesn’t deserve it.

 

He stares at himself in the mirror without really seeing anything. His head buzzes with thoughts, louder than the fluorescent. His stomach turns over on itself again.

 

“Hey.”

 

Makoto starts violently away from the hand on his arm.

 

“Haru,” he says faintly, drawing back into the corner.

 

“You’ve been gone for like half an hour.”

 

“I guess.” To be honest, he doesn’t have the slightest clue how long he’s been standing in here, staring listlessly at the sink. He doesn’t even really remember walking over here in the first place.

 

The silence expands, stealing the air from the room. Without looking, Makoto can still tell Haru’s staring at him in that point-blank way of his.

 

He hasn’t been alone with Haru like this in months.

 

“Rei isn’t awake yet, is he?”

 

Haru shakes his head, steps forward, and takes Makoto’s face in his hand.

 

All the blood seems to drain from him at once. Haru’s gaze is a needle punching straight through him, and he feels like a paper doll, thin and light and see-through weak.

 

“That…”

 

“What?” breathes Makoto.

 

“You’re looking at me like you’re scared to death. What is that?”

 

“I—I don’t know.”

 

Haru’s eyes sear over his face like brands, and Makoto can feel all his thinly constructed masks going up in flames. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop it—stop him from taking him apart.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Haru orders.

 

Makoto nearly laughs. How many days would that conversation take?

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, but he can feel tears threatening to claw their way to the surface.

 

“Liar.”

 

“I can’t tell you.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Please don’t make me do this.”

 

Haru starts to say something, then, and Makoto’s heart rises painfully as a man standing on a wounded limb, but before the word can take form the door falls flat open on it, and the voice that follows it aborts the conversation, tearing it to pieces with its sandpaper-roughness.

 

“Haru?”

 

If Rin finds it odd that Haru and Makoto are squashed together in a corner, with Makoto probably looking like he’s about to cry and the tension thick enough to cut, he doesn’t say anything about it.

 

“Ah, Makoto. There you are. We were beginning to think you’d drowned in a toilet somewhere.”

 

Haru lets get of him, but not before giving him a look that means he hasn’t let go of this conversation at all.

 

Rin holds the door open, already heading back out.

 

“He’s awake.”

 

()

 

Looking at Rei, the ways his eyes seem so old, Makoto thinks he can understand how he feels.

 

The air is thick and mostly silent. No one knows what to say.

 

“All of you…”

 

Nagisa nods, eyes fierce and bright, and grasps one of Rei’s hands in both his. “Of course, Rei-chan.”

 

Makoto sees his eyes search their faces, counting. “Gou-chan says to get well soon,” says Nagisa quickly. “She—couldn’t come.”

 

Rei’s eyes slip shut again, and the first of the tears slices down his cheek.

 

“I guess you all know,” he says. “Fuck.”

 

Nagisa’s hands tighten around Rei’s. “You’re safe now.”

 

He nods tightly. “I just—I just don’t understand what’s happening. I’m so confused by everything. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s like, did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, Rei—you didn’t do anything wr—”

 

“Then what is this?” He points at the name on his wrist, the tiny neat characters as earnest as a kindergartner’s, penciled eagerly into invisible boxes. “What the _fuck_ does this _mean_?” Tears are beginning to leak from his eyes, despite his best efforts, each fat droplet a concession to a truth Makoto knows he desperately, desperately does not want to admit. “What was it for? It was supposed to work, and it didn’t. Why is this happening to me?”

 

And what can any of them say to that?

 

“Honestly, man, I don’t know,” says Rin in a low voice. “But it’s not your fault.” Haru nods mutely.

 

“Maybe, sometimes… maybe it just doesn’t work,” murmurs Nagisa.

 

“Not work? How can it _not work_? If this doesn’t work, then nothing works. How the _fuck_ can it just, not…”

 

Nagisa bows his head to kiss the ridge of Rei’s knuckles. Makoto sees Rin’s eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t know.”

 

“…work, that doesn’t make any sense… None of this makes any fucking sense…”

 

“But no matter what the map says, that guy doesn’t love you. We love you. We’re waiting for you. So please, come back.”

 

Rei looks almost angrily at Nagisa. “You want me to tell you I’m not going back to him?”

 

“Are you?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You can’t!”

 

“Don’t pretend you understand,” he hisses. “You, all of you—all your matches worked out fine. Didn’t they? I’m the only one, who—”

 

—and how Makoto wants to tell him, at that moment, how tempting it is to set down this mountain he’s been carrying all year, but Rin’s hand is tight around Haru’s, and Makoto bites his lip so hard he tastes blood—

 

—“I understand!” Nagisa shouts.

 

Rei draws back in surprise.

 

“What… do you mean, you…”

 

Nagisa is bent over, curled up around their joined hands and his face hidden, so it takes Makoto a second to realize he, too, is crying.

 

 “I get it, Rei-chan, so don’t say that.”

 

And now it’s Rin who’s asking, slowly, “What’re you talking about…?”

 

Haru says, quietly, “Rin—”

 

“What d’you mean?” he repeats.

 

“Rin,” says Haru more forcefully. Implicitly: _we don’t need to talk about this in front of Rei._

Rin restrains himself—barely; there’s a burning in his eyes, in that face so like his sister’s, that Makoto knows will not extinguish itself. Rei’s eyes dart between Rin and the boy curled at his side, crying into his hands, and Makoto can see his heartbreak, see the indomitable wall of the map come crumbling down.

 

He looks—lost. Rei, Nagisa, Gou, himself, even Rin and Haru—they’re all so fucking lost.

 

This is life, and this is nothing that they’ve ever been taught to deal with. And Makoto’s beginning to think it is something they will never learn to, either, because people don’t prepare contingency plans for when the laws of physics break. So, when gravity doesn’t work, how are they supposed to pick themselves up? How are they supposed to keep going? When the sun doesn’t end up rising in the morning, how are they supposed to wake from their nightmares?

 

Not a one of them in this room, Makoto is certain, has the answers. He’s not sure if anyone in the world does.

 

But the fact remains that the six of them have been playing out a question, day by day by tortuous hour since the year turned its coat anew like a traitor.

 

Then, what are they supposed to do now?

 

()

 

Makoto doesn’t sleep a drop on the way back to Iwatobi—just him and Haru and Rin again; Nagisa had opted to stay, and Rin had looked at the blonde like he was a stranger. Images tear through Makoto like claws. Rei’s ashen skin against the white sheets. Nagisa’s black eye. Gou’s voice on the phone—“ _Don’t you dare go._ ” Rin’s fist, hurtling towards his face. Haru’s cold glance. _My mom and dad are getting divorced._ The bus lurches over a pothole and his skull raps sharply against the window. _God, Tachibana, I can’t believe you._ Watching the sun rise over Iwatobi with Rin. _You haven’t found your match, so you don’t—know._ Waving goodbye to his parents. _I thought you of all people would_ —

 

When he gets back to his house, it is just past midday. In his kitchen, he collapses against the counter. Gasping, he puts a hand over his chest. His heart feels like it’s trying to kick out of his skin. The back of his shirt is cold with sweat.

 

That wild, unsteady, dangerous feeling is rearing up inside of him again, like a snake uncoiling in his guts. He feels as if he’s about to do something stupid. He needs to forget—right now, right here.

 

There is an ancient bottle of vodka, some forgotten house-warming gift from eons ago, tucked into the back of the highest kitchen drawer where the twins won’t find it. Even Makoto has to stand on a chair to get it down.

 

The first sip goes down like fire. Despite his height, Makoto’s tolerance isn’t any better than average. Within maybe a half-glass’ worth, his body begins to feel heavy. It’s only when he touches his face that he realizes he’s crying again.

 

Fine. He’ll cry. So what? Already he’s drunk. He doesn’t stop. Why should he? The only people who might find him are far away, laughing on the rides at DisneySea. Alone, like this, he can afford to be selfish.

 

It’s a goddamn relief. Not to have to smile, for once. Why the fuck should he? He’s fucked everything up. God, everything has gone so wrong this summer. _So fucking terrible. You should just die._ He shakes his head. Vaguely, some part of him warns himself he should probably stop. He staggers up, but doesn’t trust himself on a chair, so he deposits what’s left of the vodka a touch too roughly in the sink. He’s not quite there yet, though, so he takes a bottle of fruity dinner wine out next, and begins working through that. He goes to the bathroom twice. On the second try, he has to lean against the wall to make it.

 

It seems to take seconds before he’s tipping the bottle back and there’s nothing left. But he’s still not there. Lurching wildly, he crawls up the stairs, nearly on all fours, like a dog, and through his parents’ bedroom. The concrete of the balcony ledge is freezing, he’s sure, but he barely feels it. He grabs the railings and pulls himself heavily upwards. That feeling is still there, rustling queasily around his heart like wrapping paper being torn open.

 

 _Go on,_ he thinks blearily. _Do it. Jump._

Some part of him already knows he won’t. But it’s enjoyable, to sway dangerously over the railing, and think he will. Pretending he’s brave enough.

 

He spends a minute or an hour on the balcony. Long enough for the railing to leave red imprints on the backs of his arms. His stomach turns over. He staggers into the bathroom and leans over the toilet for long minutes, threatening to throw up. When nothing happens, he closes the lid and sits heavily on it, head lolling against the wall. Drunk and alone in his house in the dark. _You’ve never been more pathetic. Why don’t you be strong, for once in your life? You should have thrown yourself off that balcony when you had the chance._

“Stop,” he slurs. _Ren. Ran. Mom. Dad. I can’t._

_They’d get over it,_ his mind goads him. _They’d be sad for a while but eventually, they’d get over it. Eighteen years you’ve known them, only ten for the twins. So what? You’ve known Haru for thirteen and look how quickly he moved on._

“Shu… up…”

 

Haru’s not obligated to him. Haru can love who he wants—who he _should_. But, _God._ It feels so bad. He’s sobbing again. He’d stopped on the balcony. But now. Why does he have to be such a baby? Eighteen. For God’s sake. Only eighteen. What if he lives until he’s eighty? Another sixty years of this.

 

He bites his fist as if that will make it stop. He doesn’t know if the nausea’s from the alcohol or the crying. He’s such a fucking mess.

 

He doesn’t quite know how he ends up holding the razor. In the state he’s in, he shouldn’t even be able to slip the damn blade out of its plastic handle. Nevertheless, it’s there. He stares blearily at it. _What do you do now, Makoto Tachibana?_

I don’t want to die.

 

He can’t help it; his eyes flinch shut just before the blade touches his skin. A coward to the bone. The steel bites into him and he gasps. Opens his eyes again.

 

He’s missed the first character by a bit.

 

He tries again.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s not as painful as he’d feared. He feels almost euphoric. He even manages to fall asleep, at some point, after he’s done.

It’s only when he wakes up that the pain gets at him. Lying there, his own blood puddled in spots on the linoleum, he panics.

“Mom,” he shouts. He hears the slur; okaa-aaa-san... He must still be drunk. Hasn’t been that long, then. “Dad?” It takes him a while to remember they’re gone.

The only landline in the house is downstairs, in the kitchen. There’s a moment of stupid indecision. Makoto hovers. Eyes sloshing from his red arm to the pristine carpet. He ends up wrapping a wad of paper towels around himself. When he sets his arm on the counter, it looks exactly like one of the pieces of meat his mom brings home from the butcher. The world smears in a sick swirl. He looks away.

“119. Please state your emergency.”

“Haru,” he sobs.

“Sorry?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so stupid—please…”

“Sir, please state your emergency. Are you injured?”

“I wanted. To tell you I’m v… y happy for y-, you and Rin. But I, I feel so—”

“Please stay on the line. We’re tracing your location right now. Are you hurt?”

“My a-arm.”

“Your arm? Can you tell me more about what’s happened?”

“Haru-chan…”

“Sir? Hello?”

The phone is very heavy. He puts it down for a minute, or maybe it falls from his hand. Just taking a rest.

“Are you still there? Sir?”

The blood is beginning to seep through the towels. He adjusts them limply with his good arm. 

“Have to… clean th….t. Later…”

“Hello? Are you still there? Hello?”

He thinks he’ll sit for a minute. He’s very tired.

()

Waking up is a dance in pieces. Bits of light, of sound. He can’t think straight. He’s probably on something for the—the pain. At some point he’s slurring to his mom, “You’re… back. Why… ‘dyou come back?” She shouldn’t be here. She should be at DisneySea, having fun. She’s crying. He feels awful. “Don’t…” He wants to ask if the twins had a fun time. It’s too many words. Asleep again.

When he comes fully back, it’s his dad he sees first. He’s snoring in a chair next to the bed. There are stress lines carved beneath his eyes like claw marks in wood. 

“Dad…” he whispers. His father’s mouth is fully slack; he looks like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He clears his throat and tries a little louder. “Dad.”

He jolts out of his sleep like a man escaping a nightmare. Within seconds, his eyes are brimful with tears. 

“Makoto. Thank god.”

Makoto’s mouth twists. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His dad leans forward. Crying quietly into the front of Makoto’s hospital gown. Makoto has only seen his father cry once, before, when Makoto’s grandmother died. He hates himself so deeply for making it happen again that his arm throbs in pain.

()

Having all his family in the room at once is almost too much guilt to bear. Makoto feels as if he’s about to black out from stress. Especially when his mother grabs his good arm and sobs into his hand, and he can feel her shaking. 

Maybe his dad senses this, because seconds later he’s taking the equally teary-eyed twins by their shoulders and steering them out the door.

“What happened, Mako-chan?” his mother breathes.

“It was an accident,” is all he can say.

“You did this?” It’s half a demand and half a plea. “You did this to yourself?” She looks at him and her face crumples. “Oh, my God, Makoto. Why? Why?”

“I’m sorry,” he stutters. Over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

He does fall asleep again, not long after that, which is a mercy, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand the crying faces of his siblings, his mother and father. The next time he opens his eyes, there’s no one there. A few minutes later, a nurse comes in. She says she needs to verify some things for the police report.

“The injury—was it inflicted by someone else?”

“No.”

“Nobody attacked you?”

“No. You—you can tell them there’s no one to blame.”

Pity falls over her face, then, like a curtain. Makoto looks away.

“Oh, one more thing. Do you feel well enough to receive visitors?”

“I—I guess, I mean—why, who…?”

“I gather some of your friends have been waiting downstairs. Should I let them up?”

Makoto squeezes his eyes shut.

“Maybe… later… I’m still kind of tired.”

“Okay. You take as much time as you need.”

He claws at sleep like a drowning man at a lifeboat. Not as good as the other type of oblivion, but enough, for now. The meds help him down easy.

The third time he awakes, it’s to voices in the dark. He cracks an eye open. His door is a breath’s-width ajar, spilling a blueish spear of fluorescent light and noise to part the shadowed silence.

“You need to talk to him about it.”

“I tried.”

“Then fucking try again. How fucking selfish and dense can you be?”

“Stop yelling. You’ll wake him up.”

“Fuck you! Look, he hasn’t been okay since practically fucking New Years’, okay? I’m sick of watching him mope and pine away over your sorry ass, and all because you’re too much of a fucking infant to sort out your issues like a fucking adult!”

Silence, for a second; the beam of light flickers as someone crosses in front of the door. The next time Rin speaks, his voice is very low and very quiet, and Makoto has to strain to make out the words.

“This whole time, I didn’t think I should say anything, because I thought it was something between the two of you. I told myself all summer to keep myself out of the whole business. But considering the clusterfuck we’re in now, I guess I should have spoken up sooner. He could have fucking died. Hasn’t he been your friend since you guys were like five? Do you even—think about what that means. If you can’t even understand that, I swear to God I’ll wish I’d never been matched with you.”

“Rin—”

“Don’t. Fucking follow me.”

The timorous voice of a nurse quavers in apologetically. “Ah, excuse me? Could you boys quiet down a little, please? It’s the middle of the night and the patients are all sleeping.”

“Mm. Sorry…”

“That’s all right. Let us know if you need anything.”

Nothing from Rin. He probably left.

A few seconds later, Makoto’s door creaks lightly. He hears Haru slip inside to stand by his bedside, a source of invisible heat. Makoto imagines him as a white light behind the dark of his eyelids.

So Rin of all people had noticed. He remembers their odd conversation at that park bench at the overlook. So I thought—you know, maybe—actually, let’s not talk about it. This is too fucking weird. Forget it. Was that what that was about? Was that Rin’s typically heavy-handed way of acknowledging Makoto’s feelings, like they’re some brick that wouldn’t shatter even when dropped a dozen times?

But Haru. Haru didn’t suspect a thing. Didn’t he?

This hurts like nothing else; a sick throb thrills up Makoto’s arm from the tattoo (scar now, he supposes) and he has to force himself to stay still, “asleep” beneath the pain.

Since they were kids, he’d felt like he could just understand Haru. What he liked and didn’t like, when he wanted to laugh or was irritated, or tired, or fascinated—all of it hidden behind that placid face yet as open to Makoto as a book. He was never confused by Haru, like the adults or the other kids in their class. He’d loved this, the secret of his friend cupped like a butterfly in his palms, because he thought it meant he was special, chosen in some significant way. And he’d simply assumed that Haru felt the same way about him.

But of course, Makoto has never made himself particularly difficult to read. Up until now, he’s had no reason to keep secrets from his best friend, and even those few he attempted for “surprise” birthday parties and the like had failed miserably under the navy weight of Haru’s gaze. Now he’s not sure how Haru could understand him, when there’s been so little to understand until this past year. And then, when it came down to that—nothing. Radio silence from the friend of thirteen years, as he kissed a boy who abandoned them years ago, a boy whom Makoto has had to help blunder through the tall grass of his overgrown emotions—right towards Haru.

He doesn’t know himself; this summer has proven that more than anything. But if Haru doesn’t know him either, then he feels like he doesn’t exist anymore.

He’s crying again, silently, and then he feels Haru’s cool hand on his cheek, like he’s trying to catch the tears before they fall.

He opens his eyes and looks at Haru through a prism of water.

“H-Haru…”

Haru stares into him and Makoto can feel his upset lodged like a knife beneath his ribs.

They still like that for a long while and just look at each other, and although they are almost touching it feels to Makoto like they are very, very far apart, calling to each other from different storylines in different universes, blindfolded and running in the dark. And the way Haru looks at him it is like he’s trying to hand him something, pour something into him, and if only Makoto would move a certain way or nod or blink or say the magic word he would understand—everything.

But he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand anything, and so he breaks eye contact first. “I mean,” he whispers in a rasp, “it’s probably better this way. I probably can—handle it better than, ah, you know. Rin.”

Haru shakes his head mutely. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s not your fault. It is what it is.”

“We should’ve—I should have been less obvious about it.”

“Why? You two are bonded. There was no reason not to—”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have noticed. I should have done something. Even if we’re—even if we’re not matched, you’re still my friend. So you’re not allowed to apologize, Makoto. Every time, it’s like you’re hurting yourself. I don’t like it. Don’t do it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Haru closes his eyes, and it feels like a stab to Makoto’s chest that he sees the tiniest rut between Haru’s brows and instantly knows he’s frustrated. He knows him far better than he knows himself.

“I think,” Haru says slowly, “that you think that when you understand things, it means you accept them. But just because you know something is true, doesn’t—mean anything. You can say to yourself over and over that it’s true, that this or that is a fact, but inside you’re screaming that it’s a lie. And if the world turns on this fact then the world is a lie too.

“What happened on New Years is what happened, and all of us remember the same outcome. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt. And it doesn’t make that what you felt about it was wrong.” He breathes in and out, slowly and evenly, and continues. “Rin told me. About the time you and him ran into one another in the park. And after that I lied to him.”

“About what?”

“He asked me if that night I was sure it would be him. And I said yes.”

Haru is shaking slightly now.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t sure at all. Because if it hadn’t been his name, I would have…”

He stops for a long moment, and the possibility of it breaks over Makoto’s head like a great wave, so hard that he can barely breathe.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How it would have been if I were with you, instead. Every day, walking around town with him, or going to the beach. Shopping, talking, anything; I constantly be thinking whether I would be just as happy, or even more happy if it were you there instead. Rin would be sitting right in front of me, sometimes holding my hand, and I would look at him and talk to him, while in my mind it was all you. At the same time, I knew all he was looking at was me, and that if he knew what was on my mind he would be hurt in a way he could never recover from. So I kept it in. But I felt like I was drowning. I told myself I should move on, after the decision, but I couldn’t, no matter what I told myself. I was stuck on the possibility of you.

“I could never talk to Rin about this. Never even mention it, because he wouldn’t understand. Definitely, he would put on a brave front and say he did, that it was okay. He’d say he forgives me, then never mention it again. That’s his way of being brave. But after that he would never be able to trust in me in the way he has to be able to. And I thought that I couldn’t put that kind of burden on him. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine.

“I didn’t know how to balance you and Rin. Not before or after. Maybe if it hadn’t been decided for us, I would have eventually figured it out. But it was. So I threw myself into this thing with Rin because I thought I could blind myself to any other possibility as long as I tried hard enough. And because I was weak, I was fucking weak, and I couldn’t find it in myself to face you and him and act like we were the way we were before without cracking and letting the act slip. I could only have one of you. I would have died of you together.

“And I thought—” He stumbles for the first time. “I thought that you might—also…” He swallows heavily. “This—thing, between us. I thought that if I kept away, it’d be easier for you to let go also. And move on. If you felt that way.”

Listening to Haru talk, Makoto thinks that even an extra ten years wouldn’t be enough for him to sort out everything he feels. He tries to breathe normally, though the air feels thin. 

He is aware that Haru has finished, for now, that he’s waiting on him to say something.

“Why… didn’t you tell me this earlier?” he asks. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“For the same reason you didn’t. Because I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Haru moves to hold Makoto’s hand in his own. They haven’t done this in a long time, Makoto realizes—maybe not even since they were children. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of Haru’s hand. His grasp is just as cool and strong as Makoto remembers. 

“But I know I did hurt you,” he continues. “And I’m sorry. For what that’s worth… I’m sorry for everything. I want to ask one more thing of you, and that’s that you don’t forgive me if it means hurting yourself. And if there’s anything I can do to make it better, I’ll do it. Anything in the world.”

Makoto shakes his head. He’s crying in earnest now, and the world blurs. Of course, some part of him wants to be angry at Haru. To send him away, to punish him. To give him even a taste of the suffering that he’s felt himself—just because he can, just because Haru had looked him in the eye and offered. 

But he can’t. Can’t be angry, or send him away, and least of all punish him for a situation that he is aware is beyond any of their control.

Because, in the end, that would just hurt Makoto more.

He hesitates, then draws Haru into a hug.

“It’s just good to talk to you again,” he chokes into Haru’s shoulder, and Haru holds him tight and close, like he’s trying to make sure even the night can’t get between the two of them, and in his silence Makoto hears I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, over and over again.

Eventually, after what feels like a long while, they draw back. And then, slowly, they begin to talk. About everything that has happened since the New Year, about themselves, their friends, the brave new world they’ve been thrust into. And the more they talk the more Makoto realizes that it’s really not all right. He thinks he’s brave enough to say at least that, now. With him, with Haru, with all of their friends: nothing is right, and everything is wrong.

There’s a question waiting to be answered, but he’s exhausted. He has no strength left to feel anything, let alone any solutions or advise to give. Everything’s been wrung out of him by this damned year.

He falls asleep before Haru does. The last he sees of him, Haru is sitting cross-legged next to him on the bed, holding his hand. It’s enough, for now, or at least for tonight.

Still, some part of him doesn’t want to deal with tomorrow. He wishes that he didn’t have to wake up to this again.

()

He does though, and the next day, and the day after that. About ten days later he’s released from the hospital. He has a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, so he goes, over the protests of his parents, because with the mood he’s in, he’s not even any use for babysitting the twins—and because he’s afraid of the way he gets when he’s alone. The days smear by like wet paint, and he lets them because it’s easier. Fall comes and goes. Rei surprises everyone when he shows up to school with a tattoo—nothing elaborate, just a thick, black bar over the name on his wrist. Nagisa’s father moves out of the house; Gou and Nagisa break up in a cloud of tears and drama. Everyone takes sides, Rin snarling at Nagisa and Rei ignoring Rin and Haru standing uneasily in the middle. Makoto draws back from it all, and they let him.

He has Haru back now, but he’s beginning to realize that Haru is not enough. Some part of the healing, he doesn’t know how large, has to come from himself. 

Come the end of December, he finds himself antsy, so he buys a train ticket to Tokyo. There is nowhere in particular that he wants to go, but he needs to be out of here for a while, away from these people whose histories are so intimately tangled with his own that when one of their lifelines tugs it echoes through his own. This feeling of needing space is new and foreign to him, but he thinks that right now none of them can heal one another, because they are all hurting too badly in their own ways.

The train is set to leave at three, so he leaves school early, scattering faint goodbyes to his classmates and friends. Haru looks at him with burning, concerned eyes, and Makoto already knows that he’ll text him every day while he’s gone, that he’ll probably call him before Makoto can even get on the train. It’s good, he decides, and it’ll help alleviate his parents’ worry, since they’ve never gotten away from the mindset that if they can’t get a hold of Makoto, the next best thing is to find Haru. 

The station is relatively abandoned when he arrives. The sunlight isn’t hazy and white the way it is in summer, but golden, crisp, hard in some ways. Makoto wanders around the waiting benches, thinking of nothing in particular. When he goes to the bathroom, he realizes with a jolt that he’s left his luggage back at the platform.

He hurries back. It’s unlikely someone stole it, but there’s always a chance…

As he’s walking, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. It’s Haru, after all, wishing him a safe journey.

[Thanks], he writes back, and after another second, [I’m all right]. Haru didn’t have to ask for him to hear the question. Almost instantly, a response comes back—[Good. Stay that way.]

[I will], he writes one-handed. He rounds the corner and the platform draws into sight. Someone is sitting in the bench he was at. He shields his eyes, but still can’t make out much of anything. Just a vague silhouette, a question-mark curve of a body. By the bench, he thinks he spots his luggage.

The person turns, just a shade. Sunlight traces the edge of their face in a brilliant white, a line drawing waiting to be filled in.

“Ah—excuse me,” he calls out.

()

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for everyone's support, and for everyone who kept reading all the way to the end!


End file.
